Mon Essentiel
by Sybl Angelkat
Summary: A modern 2010 woman is sent to 1428 Paris, France to prevent the tragic ends of Esmeralda, Quasimodo, and Claude Frollo as well as the others . Is there a way to turn the priest's head away from his ill-fated love/hate of the gypsy girl? 1982 movie.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: A modern 2010 woman is sent to 1428 Paris, France to prevent the tragic ends of Esmeralda, Quasimodo, and Claude Frollo (as well as the others). Is there a way to turn the priest's head away from his ill-fated love/hate of the gypsy girl? 1982 movie.

A/N: This is a time-travel story, so there's going to be a lot of anachronisms, implausible events, ect…if that turns you off, well, you've been warned. I don't own anything but the other characters.

Chapter 1….The Amulet

No one knows exactly when or how the amulet was created in the first place. It had been in the possession of the gypsies for a long time. The amulet was rumored to have special, sacred powers that only a select few people could unlock. Maybe the rumors were true, maybe not. The amulet's appearance was enough to spur the rumors: it was about the diameter of a quarter. The outside was glass heart-shaped bottle with a small cork in the top. Inside was a viscous, clear liquid that sometimes bubbled as though an invisible flame made it boil. Always suspended perfectly in the center was a gold and silver crucifix. The figure of Jesus had been crafted so lovingly that even the tiny crown of thorns was visible.

The night that Notre Dame came under attack, one of the gypsies was wearing it. When she was struck down, the clasp broke and the amulet clattered to a stop under the statue of Mary. Her heartbroken husband had placed the amulet in Mary's outstretched hands in hopes that God would have mercy on his brave wife's soul. He lived only long enough to see Esmeralda executed and Dom Claude Frollo's lifeless body being carried away. The poor man knew that the power of love could give life, but lust and hatred served as twin murderers.

The amulet was retrieved by a priest who had seen the curious object glinting. Thinking it was an object of witchcraft because of the exterior bottle, he tried to destroy it. Nothing happened, not even a crack. Eventually, he flung the object into the river and it floated away. Paris gradually returned to normal, though shaken by the events of Notre Dame's attack. No one but a select few even remembered the amulet.

It was washed out to sea. It was swallowed by a fish, then carried on a ship when the fish was gutted and eaten. The sailor who found it held onto it as a gift for his daughter once it was good and cleaned up. The daughter wore it for many years and it became a family heirloom for several generations. Ten or eleven generations later, the spoiled brat of a daughter said she "didn't want this old thing" and threw it away. Someone else found it and sold it at a pawn shop. The amulet disappeared mysteriously overnight. Nothing else went missing.

It was strange then…if anyone would have looked closely at the figure of Jesus, they would have seen his mouth turned upward slightly.

As if he smiled.

As if he knew something no one else did.

Many more years passed and the amulet had circled the globe three times before it finally came to rest at a church in America. At first, it was an object of fascination amongst the congregation, but it was put away in a drawer to keep it safe during renovations. Gradually it was forgotten again.

The preacher of the church came across it one day when they were doing the spring cleaning. Everything in the dusty storage room was emptied out and sorted through. He held the sparkling amulet up to the light.

Then, he remembered that it was someone's birthday…a young woman who had just graduated college. She was new to this town and did not know very many people yet. She held a special place in his heart because she had lovingly painted a mural of the trinity behind the baptismal tub. The amulet ended up in her possession as a gift of gratitude.

She was more than happy to keep it and promised to take good care of it. The clasp was easily mended and she fastened it around her neck.

It struck her as odd that she couldn't get it off after that, but she didn't mind. She also wondered why the liquid bubbled sometimes. At others, she could have sworn that the crucifix inside was glowing, but she chalked it up to her imagination.

Then, the dreams started…

_ A young woman dressed in clothes from the middle ages tapping a tambourine and dancing…a poor, misshapen young man with a good heart that people were afraid of…a priest, kneeling by the fire and begging God to help him…the same priest trying to touch the young woman and her disgust at his actions…everyone speaking a language foreign to her…_

The girl never revealed the dreams to anyone because they already thought she was strange. She wrote stories, though none had been published yet. Her patience with the so-called "real world" was very limited and it was hard for her to hold down a job. The only being in the world who understood her (besides God) was a small, wheat-colored mutt that she'd adopted from a shelter as a puppy. She named the dog "Squishie" because the dog liked to be hugged and held.

After a week of increasingly bizarre dreams and nights punctuated with wondering what they meant, the inevitable finally happened.

She was working at the church late one night, humming along to the song "This too shall be made right" by Derek Webb. The English translation of "Notre Dame de Paris" was sitting in one of the pews, her electric guitar and amplifier resting beside it. After losing her waitress job to a now-closed restaurant, the church band and the janitorial position was her sole means of paying the rent. The amulet began to glow again and Dawn held up the small pendant and shook it. She thought it was just a trick of the light. Her dark eyes narrowed.

_God…I must be pretty tired...I'm starting to see things,_ she thought irritably.

The door creaked open. Dawn looked up and immediately felt uneasy. A man in baggy, ripped jeans and a white (though dirty) sweatshirt walked towards her. His cap was pulled down where she couldn't see his eyes. The already dim lighting made it nearly impossible to see past the shadows that his hat cast on his face.

"Can I help you?" Dawn asked, straightening up. She'd been polishing the wood on the pews.

"Pastor Dan's already gone," she continued awkwardly, "but I can get you his number if it's important."

"I'm not looking for him," said the velvet smooth voice. Dawn wondered how that voice could come out of such a rough-looking human being. Dark stubble from an unshaven beard decorated his jaw-line. His skin looked leathery and sunburned.

"Who _are_ you looking for?"

Squishie started to bark at the man, but Dawn's hand on her back silenced her.

"You, my lady."

He inclined his head in a bow. Now, she was really confused.

"Umm…"

Dawn did not know what to think.

"You are Dawn Stevens, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir…"

She dearly wished she'd thought to lock the door. If something happened to her, no one would be the wiser until morning. Her cell phone was useless because the service had been cut off. She hadn't been able to pay the bill this month.

"I have a message for you."

"Oookay…"

_Who is this nut job? Is he somebody I went to school with? _

The man pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and read it out loud.

"The power of love transcends all languages and time. Love God and Love Thy Neighbor, the rest comes from the divine."

"Huh?"

She stared at him.

"That's what it says. If you don't believe me, look right here."

She did.

"So…what do you want with me?" she demanded again, hand slipping onto the broom handle. The flimsy plastic might not do much damage, but it might slow him down.

"Your amulet, girl! You didn't think that getting it was an accident, did you?"

"Of course it wasn't an accident," she snorted, "it was a gift."

The man grinned as if enjoying a joke she didn't understand.

"Of course it was a gift," he answered, "from above."

Dawn wanted to smack her forehead.

"Don't get them pretty gold curls twisted in a knot," he said, still smiling, "you'll figure it out soon enough."

"Stop talking in circles and just tell me," Dawn demanded.

"I'd rather show you."

Before she could object, he seized her arm. The amulet flashed so brightly that it looked as though there had been a lightning strike inside it. The world suddenly blurred around her and went black. The last thing she heard was Squishie barking noisily.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2…..The Girl

"Ugh…" Dawn groaned, raising a hand to her head. She knew there was such a thing as motion sickness, but _time travel_ sickness? How strange!

As she looked around, that was the only conclusion she could come to. There were no paved roads, only cobblestones. The houses, the torches instead of street lights, the lack of cars…

Unless her escort was playing a very big joke on her. Turning to face him, she gave him a Look.

"No, I am not playing a trick on you. What you see before you is Paris, France. It is the year fourteen-twenty-eight. Look around you…if this is a trick, it's a very well-staged one beyond my means."

She shook her head.

"This can't be real."

"Oh, but it is."

"And just who the Hell are you, anyway? You come into churches in the dead of night unannounced and you talk in circles!"

Her escort only grinned again. She also noticed that his clothing had changed.

"How did you do that?" she asked, shocked.

"The same way I did everything else," he answered cheerfully, "but it's rather complicated. A mere human could _never_ understand."

"A mere human? Does that mean you _aren't_ human? You look like one. Sort of."

He chuckled.

"You'll understand later. Now, come on. You'll need a place to sleep, food, and a means to support yourself while I'm away. There's also that other little matter…but I won't start on that for now. First things first."

Squishie growled suspiciously.

"Come on, Squish," Dawn sighed. She really needed to get home, but her curiosity was overriding her "this man is a nut" instinct.

"Who have we here?" a gruff voice demanded, "Speak quickly!"

"It is I," the man beside Dawn said calmly. Apparently, they knew him well enough by his voice that he didn't need to tell them his name.

"And the girl?" the voice asked suspiciously.

"She is an entertainer, a musician."

"Bah! What use have we for poets?"

"I promise you that she will make twice as many sous as your best dancer, Esmeralda, alone. If she doesn't, I will take her somewhere else and pay off her debts. You must treat her very well, however, and not violate her in any fashion or so help me, I will know. And no one but her is to touch her instrument without permission."

Dawn suddenly realized that he held her guitar and its battery-operated amplifier. What the…?

She was sure he hadn't been holding _those_ a minute ago, either.

"How-?" she started to ask, but his outstretched hand cut her off.

"There will be time for your questions later. In the meantime, follow this man. He will show you to your quarters for the time being."

"You're leaving me?" Dawn asked, surprised and a little nervous.

"Only for a short time. You have to trust me."

She didn't, but she didn't let him know that. She followed the other strange man down into a cavern.

"I hope your as good as he says you are," the man muttered, "I could get in all sorts of trouble for this."

Dawn stopped in surprise.

"What?" he asked, annoyed.

"Say something else."

"Why?"

Dawn's brain was having trouble figuring out what had just happened. She clearly heard him speaking French, but she somehow _understood _him though she could not hope to repeat what he had just said in French. The sound was French, but they _registered_ after a moment as English. It was like when she'd taken Spanish that she was able to decipher a sentence after a second or two.

"Are you deaf?" he asked, annoyed.

When Dawn spoke, he heard French, but it was heavily accented by another language he had never heard before. Upon realization of this, she clapped both hands over her mouth.

"Oh, my goodness! How am I doing that?" she whispered, more to herself than anybody else.

The man was irritated now.

"Sorry. Lead the way," she said awkwardly. She did not talk to him anymore for the rest of the journey.

"Here," he said carelessly, gesturing to a tiny room. There wasn't even a window, only a ratty-looking bed.

"Thanks," Dawn mumbled, trying really hard not to sound put off. He left. Squishie, apparently not having the same level of pickiness, jumped up on the bed and curled up. Dawn didn't want to sleep on this bed…there was no telling what was _living_ in it, but her exhaustion got the better of it.

_I'm dreaming. I've got to be. Hopefully I'll wake up in my apartment tomorrow._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3…..More than words on a page….

It wasn't until the name "Esmeralda" was mentioned that Dawn suddenly recognized why she felt a sense of déjà vu. Apparently, she was to perform with her.

"You do realize that we could get in trouble for this?" she had protested, but her comment fell on deaf ears.

_Well…Shadow says I'll be okay…what choice do I have but to trust him?_

She tuned her guitar and began to play. The familiar action left more space in her head for the time being.

_I still haven't woken up in my apartment…apparently this is all real…that or I'm really hallucinating. Ah, well…these people seem to be having a good enough time._

She played "Dancing in the streets" followed by "Dance To The Music." They were attracting a pretty promising crowd when two guards grabbed Esmeralda.

_Uh-oh…okay, that was the arrest…where's the priest?_

"I would like to show you something," Shadow told her, pulling her aside.

"But-"

"This will only take a second."

He drew something out of his bag. She recognized it as a time-worn copy of "Notre Dame de Paris." He turned to a page that was dog-eared.

"Huh?" Dawn asked in puzzlement.

The text only went so far down the page. She turned the page. It was blank. So was the next page. And the next.

The whole rest of the book was empty!

"The story hasn't been written yet," Shadow informed her, "that's why I brought you here."

"But-"

"Go see what happens. Go on," he urged her.

Dawn zipped her guitar case and stuffed the small amplifier into the side pouch. Squishie trotted along by her heels. Dawn jogged after the guards just fast enough to keep up—she was trying really hard to keep from drawing even more attention to herself. It was hard when she was dressed in blue jeans and a black tank top and the rest of the world was filled with colorful dresses. Before long, the guards decided she was apparently a trouble maker as well and grabbed her.

"Hey! I wasn't doing anything!" Dawn protested.

"Public indecency," the guard said, gesturing to her clothes.

"But-"

Then, a carriage appeared. Two black horses, glossy from brushing, parted the crowd. They had to stop, though, because Esmeralda was struggling so much and holding up the path. The carriage behind the horses was adorned with crosses.

_So…this must be him,_ Dawn thought.

From what she'd read of _Notre Dame de Paris_, the priest was supposed to be a guy who looked really old for his age and not necessarily a very attractive man.

"What's going on here? Why have we stopped?"

A black gloved hand slid the burgundy-colored curtain back.

It was hard to say who was more surprised.

"It's a gypsy girl, Your Worship. We caught her dancing in the streets."

"Then arrest her. See that she's taken at once to…"

He suddenly trailed off.

Clopin, the gypsy king, stood nearby and watched the exchange. The priest's eyes locked onto Esmeralda. He seemed transfixed, enchanted. Meanwhile, he also noticed that Dawn was studying the priest.

_Not bad…_Dawn thought, _much better than I expected…_

Though she estimated him to have at least ten years on her, he was not the type of man who had aged badly. His ash-blonde hair would actually take on a reddish tint if the sun hit it just right. His rounded face made him look younger. And, quite frankly, he had the most beautiful ocean-colored eyes she'd ever seen.

"What a waste," she muttered to herself.

"Bring her here," the priest said.

Unfortunately, they didn't know which "her" that he meant, so they dragged both Dawn and Esmeralda forward. The priest's gaze flicked from Dawn to Esmeralda.

The other cleric in the carriage was just annoying. Dawn was ready to punch him if he didn't shut up.

Esmeralda begged him to let them both go, that they were only trying to make a living. After the irritating other guy accused them of witchcraft, Esmeralda grabbed the priest's gloved hand.

_Good move…she's got him now…_Dawn thought.

"Release her," the priest said quietly. When the guards didn't move (probably out of shock, he said more firmly, "let her go."

"What about this one?"

Dawn was suddenly thrust forward.

"Watch it!" she snapped at the guard who had shoved her. She could feel her face redden slightly.

_Oh…I hate my cheeks,_ Dawn thought irritably. A variety of things could make her turn as red as an apple: being too warm, drinking too much coffee, some of the medicines she took, or, in this case, being embarrassed. It had been one of her biggest aggravations since she had been twelve and gotten her first crush.

"I don't recognize your accent…where are you from?"

_Uh-oh…how can I tell him about a country that doesn't exist?_

Dawn thought fast.

"I'm from America, sir. We're pretty far off…it took me forever to get here. I've only been in France for a little while…I don't even think I've hit the full-day mark yet."

He gave a small nod of understanding.

"And your name?"

"Dawn."

She could feel the other priest's gaze tearing into her and she wanted to stick her tongue out at him. Knowing she was in somewhat of a predicament, she chose not to for the time being.

"I'll let you go this time," he warned her, "but you need to dress with more modesty. You seem to be attracting all the wrong kinds of attention."

"All right," she sighed, wondering why it bothered her so much.

He turned his attention on the guards.

"Let her go."

The carriage moved away. Dawn hadn't realized how nervous she'd actually gotten until it disappeared around the corner.

"God, that was close," she breathed suddenly.

"Yes, it was," Esmeralda agreed.

Clopin had wound his way through the crowd and was now standing at her side.

"Did you see that? How he looked at you…." He said with a knowing grin.

Dawn was grinning too.

"He thinks you're gorgeous…he wants to kiss you…" she said in a sing-song voice, imitating Sandra Bullock from "Miss Congeniality".

"He does _not_," Esmeralda protested.

As they ventured to a different spot (one with a few less guards), Dawn couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It had been an awfully long time since a man had looked at _her_ that way. The last one to do so…well, things had ended badly. She'd fallen head over heels for his sweet smile and pretty green eyes. Then, she found out that he would never give her his heart and that he'd only wanted to bed her. Fortunately, she bailed out before it actually happened. The subject of boyfriends had been a sore-spot with Dawn for quite a while.

"And I saw the way you looked at _him,_" Clopin commented to Dawn.

Dawn flushed brightly, inwardly cussing out her cheeks.

"I was just enjoying the view," she mumbled, "God…can't a girl just look without getting crap for it? Man, what a waste!"

Clopin couldn't help but chuckle.

Dawn went off to find Shadow and to give him a piece of her mind. She wasn't sure what good it would do, but it would somehow make her feel better. In the meantime, Esmeralda was refusing to dance again.

"He warned me…the man of the church…I'll be arrested," she protested.

"I saw the way he looked at you," Clopin argued, "he wouldn't harm a hair on your pretty little head. You WILL dance!"

"If we get in trouble, you're bailing us out," Dawn muttered, though she figured playing guitar would help her feel better.

"Come here," Shadow said, "I have something for you."

She followed the hooded gypsy back to her "room".

"Put these on," he said, "so you won't get into trouble."

Dawn stared.

"I am NOT wearing that."

"Yes, you are," Shadow said firmly, "you heard him."

"He said to dress more modestly. He didn't say I had to wear a damn corset."

"Do it anyway."

Cursing him out the entire time, Dawn changed. He helped her lace the irritating thing up.

"I can't breathe good," she complained, "how do they survive it?"

"It will pass," he told her, "I didn't even lace it that tightly."

Dawn was used to tight clothes, but not _this_ tight. She squirmed uncomfortably and tugged at it. Though she imagined she had a very flattering figure right now, she already missed her jeans and tank top. They were laying folded up on the bed.

The dress was a nice pale blue that flattered Dawn's gold hair. The trim was a satiny white. It was a relatively simple cut and plainly patterned, but it looked good nonetheless.

"Ah…look at you! You're glowing!" Shadow said as if Dawn were a painting rather than a person.

"It's because this stupid thing mashed all the blood up into my face," Dawn muttered, "I hope I don't get gas—it would pop the strings loose."

Shadow chuckled.

"Get out there and play!"

"I sure hope you know what you're doing, cause I sure as to Hell don't!" Dawn muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

The crowd was growing bored with Pierre Gringoirre's play and starting to boo him. They wanted action; they wanted some sort of fight.

Then, he heard the music.

He glanced up.

He saw two women on the platform. One had a tambourine and was dancing. The other stood off to the side and was playing an unfamiliar instrument. A little wheat-colored dog stood on her hind legs and moved her front ones to look like she was dancing. Children "ooh"ed and "ah"ed over the little creature and the white goat. Both adults and children alike were enjoying the music and the dancing. Men looked appreciatively at the dancing girl.

"What a beautiful creature! I shall write her a sonnet!" Pierre announced.

"Should we continue?" one of the actors asked.

They had no crowd left. Everyone onstage knew it was a futile effort to recapture their attention when they had something so beautiful and lively to look at.

"Attention, everybody! It is time to crown the King of Fools!"

The crowd was drawn away from Esmeralda, then, too.

She and Dawn began to collect the coins. Dawn had lain her case open and she examined the glittering coins against the black canvas. Esmeralda gathered up the ones in her tambourine. The ones that had not made it to a select vessel were counted up and divided equally. Out of fairness, Dawn dropped some of hers into the gypsy king's hand. He chuckled sinisterly and stuffed them into his pouch. Then, he kissed Dawn's hand (much to her disgust).

"My lady," he said, grinning, "you may come and play your instrument with us ANYTIME you like!"

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, waiting until his head was turned to wipe the back of her hand on her skirt.

"Didn't I tell you that she'd be a success?" Shadow asked Clopin.

"That you did," he sighed contentedly, "I hope she stays."

Esmeralda was still gathering up her own coins when the guards rushed forward.

"Arrest her!"

Dawn had just pulled the strap of the guitar case over her shoulder when she was grabbed, too.

"HEY!" she snapped.

"You were warned, and now you will pay for it!"

"You sleazy son-of-a-"

Everyone gasped in hearing how Dawn addressed this supposed "man of God".

"We didn't do ANYTHING wrong and you know it!" she snapped.

"Let's go," the cleric said to the guards.

They were dragged towards the cathedral. There was some kind of chaos going on a little further up, but Dawn didn't see what it was about.

Squishie trotted beside her master, not understanding what was going on. She growled a few times, but Dawn hissed at her to shut up. She didn't want Squishie getting hurt.

The cathedral loomed ahead. Dawn recognized it immediately; the architecture had been replicated many times in movies and was famous. The pain in the butt cleric walked in front of all of them.

She saw the blonde-haired priest, the one that she thought was attractive. He talked to the one she didn't like for a couple of minutes, then the blonde-haired priest came up to them.

Esmeralda, of course, fell apart.

"Have mercy, I have listened! I told them we'd get arrested!"

She dropped to her knees and grabbed handfuls of his cassock. Dawn made a face and didn't move.

_Smooth…_

"Get up," he said firmly.

She continued to plead.

"I said get up!" his tone was sharp. She finally got the message and stood.

"Is it so terrible to dance in the streets?"

"You take me for a fool," he spat, "there is a demon, a demon that speaks through your lips!"

"Not hers," Dawn commented, "_his_, maybe."

She tipped her head towards the other cleric. He lunged forward, but the blonde priest's hand stopped him.

_What was his name from the book? What was it…something that started with the letter C…_

"You," he said, addressing Dawn, "quiet! I'll deal with you in just a moment!"

Dawn made a face, but she didn't say anything. She was too busy trying to figure out who the blonde priest was.

_Cass…Cap…Claus…Corey…no, that last one's Scottish…uh…Claude…wait, that's it! Claude! His name was Claude something. Well, at least I know what to call him._

"I swear by all that's Holy, I've never harmed anyone! Please, let me go!"

Esmeralda was near tears. Though this might have worked the first time, Dawn doubted it would a second time.

"Let you go? Do you know what will happen if you leave this cathedral? You will be taken straight to the Bastille. I am afraid there is no hope for you. Unless…"

He looked around for a second as if making sure that no one else could hear. Leaning in like a close friend about to share a secret, he said, "here, you may claim sanctuary. The courts, the magistrates…they can't touch you here."

"But how could I live here?" Esmeralda asked.

"In the bell tower, there is a place for you to sleep. I will see that you are cared for…I will pray for you."

She breathed a sigh of relief and her shoulders relaxed vividly. Then, he walked over to Dawn. The guards who had held them both were now retreating out the doors. Dawn hoped that nobody noticed Squishie, who was cowering behind Dawn.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" he asked sternly, as though about to scold a child.

Dawn knew to choose her words carefully. The priest, Claude, might not be so lenient on her as he had been for Esmeralda.

"Nobody told me it was against the law to play my guitar," Dawn told him, "like she said, we were just earning a living. Some people are doctors, lawyers, bakers, and I happen to be a musician and an artist. I've tried a lot of other stuff and I'm no good at it. Being an artist is kind of my way of life, just like being a priest is a way of life for you."

"She is-" the other priest started to say, but Claude cut him off with a raised hand.

"Joseph…I'm sure you have more important things to take care of. Why don't you go tend to them? I can take care of this myself."

The one he had called "Joseph" sent Dawn a withering look and retreated.

"No offense, really," Dawn sighed, "but that guy is a royal pain."

For a split second, he looked as though he agreed with her. The mask of sternness returned quickly.

"What was your name again? Dawn?"

She nodded.

"While everyone has the right to disagree, you should pick your battles more wisely. I don't know what your customs are where you come from, but here, women should not dance and sing in the streets. It's not becoming to them and it puts others at risk for developing sinful thoughts."

He said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Dawn had to force herself to remember that people of this era thought about things differently.

"So…how much trouble am I in?" she ventured a smile.

"You may claim sanctuary here as Esmeralda did."

She shrugged.

"All right…beats being arrested. Everybody says a trip to France is nothing without visiting Notre Dame anyway."

He turned and she took this as her cue to follow him.

"Come," he said to Esmeralda.

Both women followed him up the stairs.

There were three little niches in the bell tower. Two of them were vacant, one of them was where Quasimodo must stay. Dawn finally saw him for the first time. Dawn guessed that Claude finding out about the King of Fools thing had already taken place, for the poor, misshapen creature retreated quickly.

"You may stay over there," he said, gesturing to one of the "rooms". Dawn eased the guitar off of her shoulder and set it down. While she was doing that, Claude led Esmeralda to the other "room".

"There now, you see? A room of your own," he said.

Dawn felt slightly guilty for eavesdropping, but she couldn't help herself.

"We will be good…to each other," he said pointedly, raising a hand to touch Esmeralda's hair.

The tension was so heavy in the air that it filled the small area like a thick fog.

_Oh, dude, no!_ Dawn thought.

He touched her cheek and his breath grew ragged.

"You are very pleasing, Esmeralda," he whispered, voice growing thick with lust.

Of course, that freaked her out and she ran for the door.

"Don't be a fool! Don't you realize that I am your salvation?"

She bolted.

Forgetting about Dawn being there entirely, Claude ran towards Quasimodo.

"Bring! Her! Back!" he snapped. Quasimodo ran down the stairs after her.

Dawn ventured out of her hiding spot.

"Smooth," she teased, "kidnapping her's really going to warm her up towards you."

Claude sent Dawn a look that could have frozen blood.

"You will tell _no one_ about this," he hissed, "_no one._"

Dawn shrugged.

"What you do in your love life or lack thereof is your business," she said calmly, "I was just going to tell you that there's a better, easier way to handle this. He's not going to catch her, you know. He's going to get in trouble and she's going to-"

She stopped, realizing that she was predicting the future from the original story.

He stared at her as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Never mind," Dawn said sheepishly, turning to walk away from him.

He seized her arm and pinned her against the wall.

"Are you a witch? Tell me the truth!"

"No," Dawn grunted, wishing he'd not squeeze her so hard, "I swear…"

He thought for a moment. There had been people who could give prophecies in the old texts…maybe she was one of them.

Then again…

He decided to give her a chance. Maybe it was lust for Esmeralda clouding his mind, maybe it was fear. Either way, he would have just ordinarily had someone like Dawn dragged outside and killed.

Very carefully, he eased his grip on her. She glared at him and rubbed her arm.

"You are a prophetess, then?"

"A what?"

"A prophetess. A woman who can predict the future. One who receives messages from God."

Dawn thought that over. It seemed to be a loaded question.

"I don't know…I've never done it before," she admitted.

_Because I've never landed in a universe where a book I read was reality…_

He released her completely.

"What about Quasimodo?" he prompted from earlier.

"I'll tell you on a couple of conditions," Dawn said in her "let's make a deal" voice.

He waited.

"First, I don't want your little priest buddies arresting me and Esmeralda every five seconds. In fact, I want us both to have complete immunity."

"I don't know if I can promise that."

"Then I can't tell you."

He drew in a sharp breath of frustration.

"Fine! I cannot promise complete immunity from the law because I don't have that power. But I can promise you that I'll do my best to protect you both! What else do you want?"

"My other request is that we get a little respect. Quite frankly, I don't appreciate the way women are treated in general around here. I want you to talk to us like equals and treat us like you would want yourself to be treated."

"I will try. Now, what about Quasimodo?"

"He's probably gotten arrested right about now," Dawn said, shutting her eyes, trying to remember, "the captain of the Royal Archers…Phoebus, I think is his name, intervened right when Quasimodo grabbed Esmeralda. Esmeralda's going to fall in love with Captain Phoebus and Quasimodo's going to get a beating and be turned on that funny-looking wheel thing so that people can humiliate him."

It was a bizarre prediction to say the least, but only time would tell if this girl was right or not. She could tell he didn't believe her entirely.

"Let her go," Dawn said finally, "she's going to be nothing but trouble for you."

"We shall see tomorrow whether you are real or not," Claude said finally, clearly having had enough for tonight. He turned on his heel and left.

Squishie scratched on Dawn's leg, wanting to be picked up. Dawn hoisted the dog up into her arms and kissed the top of her fuzzy head.

"Well at least _you_ believe me," Dawn said affectionately.

Squishie licked her cheek.


	5. Chapter 5

Claude had sat up waiting for Quasimodo to return, but his drowsiness got the better of him. Eventually, his head slumped forward and a soft, rhythmic snore began to come out of his slightly open mouth. The clock struck midnight, then one, then two. Claude struggled to stay awake and says his prayers properly, but it was a challenge. He couldn't remember feeling this exhausted before.

The door was open a crack. Dawn was unused to sleeping in strange places and started wandering around. Squishie almost barked a couple of times, but Dawn hissed at her to be silent. Thank goodness for the amulet, she mused, because the dog finally knew to shut up when she was told.

Curiosity got the better of Dawn and she poked her head into the room. The fire had burned itself down to a shimmering ruby bed of coals. It was _cold_ in here despite the corset holding in most of Dawn's body heat. She had purposely loosened the laces earlier so that she would stop feeling the acid reflux.

She examined the sleeping Claude and made the "be quiet" gesture to Squishie. Then, she retrieved a blanket from his bed and gently lay it over him. She made sure to tuck in the corners where they wouldn't be in danger of catching a spark. As quietly as she could manage, she hefted another log onto the fire. The shimmering bed of embers broke apart and spat sparks. Still, he did not wake. Dawn breathed a sigh of relief and watched as the bark on the outside of the wood ignited. Within a few seconds, the fire could hold its own. She brushed the splinters off of her hands and sat there on the hearth to warm herself up.

Surely he wouldn't begrudge her a piece of paper…

She took one from his desk and made sure there was nothing written on it. Retrieving a charred stick that had rolled onto the hearth, she began to rub the charcoal off of it. She had to be careful because there was no eraser handy…she would have to ask Shadow if he could tell her where to get one later (if they even existed…).

Her mind strayed to the events that were destined to happen. Suppose her predictions didn't come true? What would he do to her?

She shook her head. She wasn't going to think about that. She decided one more sheet of paper couldn't possibly hurt.

Claude woke to a funny scraping sound. He didn't dare move until he figured out what was going on. Dawn's back was turned to him, so he couldn't see right away what she was doing. The little fluffy dog had curled up beside her.

Dawn almost screamed, but his hand over her mouth muffled the noise. Upon realizing who was holding her, she peeled his hand away from her mouth to give him a piece of her mind.

"What the Hell? You almost gave me a heart attack!" she snapped.

"What are you doing in my cell?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm drawing."

It was Claude's turn to be puzzled.

"Drawing?"

He didn't sound terribly convinced.

"Let go and I'll show you."

It must have been the tiredness that prevented him from scolding her about talking to him like that, but he released his hold on her. She held up a piece of parchment paper with her charcoal-smudged hands.

"You want to know what happens, right? This is the guy she's going to fall in love with."

Dawn had drawn a sort of montage of all the characters she'd met so far. Phoebus was in the upper right corner. She had glimpsed him earlier when she'd been playing guitar on the street.

Claude must have recognized him as well, for his gaze darkened.

"If I'm not mistaken, they've already run into each other a long time ago."

He recognized several other faces in the drawing as well, one of which was his. While he was distracted by the drawing, Dawn rolled up the other one and hid it in her dress. She didn't want him to see it for some reason.

Claude was chilled all over. Ordinarily, the drowsiness would have fled, but it stayed with him, making it nearly impossible to think logically.

"Go to bed. We will discuss it at a more reasonable hour."

She was yawning, too.

"Fine. Just don't sneak up on me again."

She gestured to her dog to follow her and they left the cell.

_Some prophetess she is…she can't even tell when I'm awake…_Claude thought with amusement. This situation had him thoroughly unsettled, but he was grateful to find something to laugh at.

The morning went by without any incidents. It wasn't until later that Joseph came to Claude.

"I've found Quasimodo," he said, "I was told he was arrested and beaten for assault on a woman."

Joseph's voice was colored with distaste and irritation.

"When was this?"

"This morning," Joseph answered, "they've taken him to the pillory. Shall we fetch him?"

Claude thought for a second.

"No."

"He's an embarrassment to the church, Excellency, and to your office. Why do you go on sheltering him?"

The offense was subtle, but Claude still resented his decisions being questioned. He tamped the feeling down firmly and decided that Joseph didn't know any better, which was why Claude was running Notre Dame and not him.

"Those that we shelter here on the earth become the treasures that God grants us in Heaven," he explained to Joseph as though he were a simpleton.

Claude was careful not to show his shock to Joseph…or to anyone else for that matter. Changing out of the robes he'd worn for that morning's mass, he put his regular black ones on and went to the stables for the mare he usually rode. He had to see it for himself. The apprehension was building inside him.

_She was right…_his mind kept chanting over and over again.

Sure enough, there was poor, dumb Quasimodo strapped to the pillory. People were pelting him with various decaying bits of food. They stopped when they saw the archdeacon riding through; it would be a terrible sin to accidentally hit a man of the cloth. Claude stared hard into Quasimodo's eyes. Quasimodo sent him a pleading look, but Claude rode away. He had more important things to worry about just now.

While Quasimodo was being publicly humiliated in the square, Claude returned to the cathedral to find Dawn. She was lounging around in the bell tower, her odd instrument laying across her lap.

_Good God_, he thought_, no wonder she is accused of witchcraft…only the Devil himself would consider that terrible noise to be music!_

"You found him."

It was a statement, not a question.

"Look out the window right there," Dawn said, using the head of the guitar to point.

Claude did. He looked down just in time to see Esmeralda climb onto the pillory.

"What's she doing?" he asked himself more than Dawn.

"Giving him a drink," Dawn replied.

Claude's heart almost stopped when Esmeralda produced a canteen and held it to Quasimodo's mouth. After a few seconds, she dropped the canteen there and disappeared into the crowd again.

"So…it's true…"

She could hear the uneasiness in his statement.

"What's true?" Dawn pressed, not able to resist a few bragging rights.

"You can predict the future, then…"

"Sort of."

Claude came to stand beside the bed that Dawn was lounging on.

"How exactly do you do it?" he asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she answered.

She was probably right, but Claude was getting a little impatient.

"Tell me anyway. I have probably heard of stranger things."

"Not this strange."

"Try me."

"Okay…but you asked."

Dawn suddenly remembered the copy of _Notre Dame de Paris_ and wondered where she had put it.

"How did that get in there?" she wondered out loud after seeing a corner of the book poking out of her guitar case. She shrugged and passed it to him.

"Take a look," she answered.

Claude thumbed through the page. His face began to pale and then redden alternately.

"My God…who wrote this?"

He tossed the book on the bed and crossed himself instinctively. Dawn resisted the urge to chuckle.

"That would be a man by the name of Victor Hugo," she answered.

"And this Victor Hugo…is he a prophet as well?"

Dawn did laugh.

"Close. He's a writer. Are you okay? You look a little pale."

Claude was trembling like an old man when he sat down on the edge of the bed. It was wrong, he knew, and it violated a lot of rules, but he didn't care at the moment. He was going to lose consciousness if he didn't sit.

"How? How can someone know me so intimately? There are things in that book that I have never told anyone about! How many others know?"

Dawn quickly thought of something. She didn't like the idea of Claude getting freaked out.

"It's just God and I right now," she lied cleverly, deciding to leave Shadow out of it, "this is the only copy of the book there is right now."

Claude shuddered involuntarily.

"Please…just…stay here…"

He staggered out of the room as if he'd seen a ghost. Dawn cringed, a pang of guilt in her stomach. She hadn't meant to scare him. She wondered if she should have kept that book to herself.


	6. Chapter 6

_She knows me…she knows my secrets…my most intimate thoughts…Oh, God, I beg you, please deliver me and protect me! If she really is benevolent, please show me…I will protect her if that's what you want…but if she is evil, please send her away…please, oh, please help me! I don't know what to do!_

As Claude knelt in his cell, trembling, sweating, and very near tears, Dawn was wandering around the cathedral. She felt a little guilty about not doing what Claude asked of her, but she planned on being back upstairs before he found out.

"Shadow! What are you doing here?" Dawn asked.

"You didn't just expect me to leave you here on your own, did you?" Shadow responded.

"Well…since you're here, I got a couple of questions," Dawn commented.

"Ask away," he said dismissively.

She studied him.

"Why are you dressed like a monk?"

"That's a secret. Next question."

"Why's your hood always up?"

"Also a secret. Next question."

Dawn sighed. Deciding that she wasn't going to get a clue to his identity, she resigned herself to something easy.

"Is there any way I can get a decent drawing book? I'm bored as Hell up there."

"I brought you a few things to make your stay more comfortable," Shadow answered, handing her a cloth bag. Dawn couldn't help but be amused: the bag very closely resembled the small backpack she used to carry around in the future.

"Thanks," she said gratefully.

"Now," Shadow said, voice dropping to a whisper, "be careful where you use some of those items…we don't want them falling into the wrong hands. Anachronisms can be a little dangerous at times."

Dawn nodded.

"Now to the real reason I'm here," Shadow said, his lips almost touching her ear, "you gave poor old Claude a nasty fright with that book."

"I know," Dawn sighed, "I didn't mean to. I didn't even think about it until after he'd already freaked out and ran away."

Shadow chuckled.

"Don't worry, dear, it's not the end of the world. He'll recover…he's stronger than he thinks he is…but we must clear things up for him. He's frightened of you and we need to give him a reason to trust you."

Dawn raised an eyebrow. The suspicion on her face couldn't be plainer.

"Shadow, why am I here? Seriously," she demanded, "I'm beginning to think I'm screwing around with stuff that I really shouldn't be messing with. So he likes Esmeralda, big deal. I feel weird about intruding."

Ah…she was even smarter than he expected. This was a good sign. She had put those things together without so much as a hint.

"Don't worry about it," he told her, "stop thinking so far ahead. Besides, you're doing much better here than you were before: you don't have rent to pay, you have money, and you're getting much more attention from other people here."

"Maybe a little too much," Dawn admitted, "people are looking at me like I've got horns."

"I assure you that it's a good thing," Shadow answered, "the attention will serve you well later on. Now go into the sanctuary."

"Why?"

"Go."

Dawn crossed her arms.

"Must I drag you?" Shadow teased.

"I'll go, but you're coming with me," she snapped.

"You don't trust me," Shadow guessed.

"No. I don't. In the last forty-eight hours, you got me arrested for witchcraft and now Claude doesn't like me. Esmeralda's going out with a pig and Quasimodo's in trouble for something he was told to do."

"Unfortunate circumstances, yes, but you are still in one piece and everyone else will straighten up as well."

"How do I know that?"

"You don't. You can only trust."

Dawn was getting tired of hearing that. She noticed a couple in the sanctuary with a baby. Both of them looked really upset. They placed their baby in the foundling's box and started to leave. Before she could think, she had sprinted across the cathedral and caught up with them. She wasn't aware that Joseph was watching her.

"Hey, wait! You're not really going to leave the baby here, are you?"

The couple exchanged glances.

"We have no choice," the man said wearily, "we cannot care for her any longer."

"Is it money?" Dawn asked.

"Well…yes and no," he admitted, "our daughter has been ill for quite some time. We've tried several different doctors and they cannot help her. I had to sell almost everything to pay them. We have no money left and our daughter is going to die without intervention. We thought she would be much better off here."

"What's the matter with her?" Dawn asked.

"She can't hold her milk down," the woman spoke this time, "not more than a few minutes after she takes my breast, she vomits so violently that it leaves her weak and broken. She can't even cry anymore."

Dawn thought that over. The hurt in the couple's faces tugged at her heartstrings.

"We've prayed for so long for a child…and now, God has seen fit to take the only one we have away," the woman choked out, tears forming in her eyes.

"Come along, Marguerite, we don't need to burden her with our troubles," the man sighed.

"I have an idea," Dawn blurted out, stepping in front of them.

They looked at each other again.

"How about you let her stay here for a week," Dawn said, "and then come back and check on her after that. In the meantime, take this with you. You don't want your daughter coming home to nothing. You need to take care of yourselves if you're going to take care of her."

Dawn thrust the pouch of coins into the man's hand. His jaw dropped.

"Do you realize how many coins must be in here?" he asked, stunned.

"You need it more than I do," Dawn assured him, "I know what it's like to be broke. I'm here under sanctuary, so I have all I need. Go buy back your land."

Both of them pounced on her and hugged her so fiercely that Dawn felt something snap.

"You're welcome," she choked out, "what's your baby's name?"

"We haven't named her yet," the man admitted, "we didn't think she'd survive long enough."

Dawn picked the baby up.

"Promise me," she said, "that you'll be back in a week."

"We swear on our own lives," the man told her. They rushed out of the cathedral, leaving Dawn there with the baby. Joseph disappeared up the stairs.

"Why do I have the feeling that you had something to do with this?" Dawn asked Shadow.

"Because you're right," he answered.

Dawn glanced down at the baby.

"Now what do I do? I've baby-sat before, but the worst I ever dealt with was the flu," she told him, "I can't let them come back to a dead baby!"

"Think about the symptoms," Shadow urged her, "where have you seen them before?"

"My cousin used to projectile-barf every time he got fed, too," Dawn commented, "they said he was lactose intolerant…ooh, that's a tough one…what are we supposed to feed her? There's not any formula."

"Remember the countless romance novels you've read?"

Dawn blushed furiously.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"There was one set in the Middle Ages about a woman who had healing abilities," he reminded, "what did she feed the sick baby of the king?"

"Goat's milk," Dawn answered after a moment, "but where am I going to get it?"

"I suppose the kitchen would be a good place to start," he answered.

"Where are you going? You can't leave me now," Dawn pleaded when Shadow started to walk away.

"I'll be back," he promised, "but this matter is in your hands now. I can help you, but I can't do it for you."

Dawn stared at his retreating back. The infant in her arms began to fuss. She looked down at her.

"You're not going to die, are you? You're stubborn, just like me," she mumbled, though doubts flickered through her head. She bowed her head and prayed for a moment before hurrying to the kitchen.

…

He could hardly believe all the things that had just happened to him. Pierre had gone to check on Esmeralda after Phoebus had successfully rescued her. Though Pierre had failed, he had at least tried to get her away from Quasimodo. There was a small comfort, though: Phoebus would have failed as well if he hadn't called the other guards.

After a few frightening moments in which the gypsy leader, Clopin, had threatened to have him hanged, Esmeralda had stepped in and come to his rescue. _She_ had come to _his_ rescue!

In his opinion, things had gone very backward.

He was grateful, he supposed, but he wasn't happy.

She wouldn't let him be a husband. She would come to love him in time, he supposed, but she wasn't giving him a chance. The first time she'd seen Phoebus today, she'd run right to him.

Pierre watched him take her hand and kiss it. Jealousy boiled up unpleasantly inside of him and turned his blood to steam. That rat had no right to touch his beautiful wife (even if they were only friends)!

"Ah, my beautiful gypsy love…how I have missed you," the lout purred, "we must meet again…the Boar's Head Inn—there is a private room above the tavern. Seven o'clock."

He rode away and Esmeralda stared after him like a puppy.

"You aren't really going, are you?" Pierre asked hotly.

She gave him a Look.

"At the least let me warn you that you might have to wait your turn," he snapped.

That made her angry. She turned from him and he grabbed her arm.

"Don't go," he begged.

But she did.

Pierre did not know what to think. It bothered him immensely that she was in love with someone who didn't appreciate her nearly as much as he did. It was clear to him that the marriage was already a flop and that he'd have to share her with "the Sun God" for the rest of his life.

For some odd reason, the other woman crossed his mind as well. The one with the strange instrument. He wondered how she was faring under the wings of Notre Dame.

The thought slammed to a halt when he saw the archdeacon's toady assistant. What was he doing here?

"You are Pierre Gringoirre? Come with me," he answered.

"For what purpose?" Pierre asked, but the two armed guards that walked on either side of him implied that the man was in no mood to answer questions.


	7. Chapter 7

Just moments before, Joseph had come bursting into Claude's office and informed him that Dawn had taken a child out of the foundling's bed and confronted the parents about their decision. Then, she had gone into the kitchen asking for goat's milk. Claude had only half-heard him because he had more pressing matters on his mind. Joseph was puzzled by Claude's requests to find out if Esmeralda had a husband. If she did, he was to find him and bring him here. It had taken Joseph the greater part of the morning to accomplish this task.

At last, the door opened and a scruffy-looking blonde young man entered.

"You are Pierre Gringoirre?" Claude asked.

"I am, Your Excellency, and I am indeed a poet, but I swear by my hope of Heaven that I have never written against you or the church-"

He cut Pierre's growing panic off with a raised hand.

"I am told you are seen frequently in the company of a gypsy girl, Esmeralda."

Pierre was puzzled.

"We are, in faith, married," he admitted.

Claude stared.

"_What?_"

The question was scarcely a whisper.

"But only, it would seem, to save my life. I fear she doesn't care for me."

It was Claude's turn to be confused.

"Then you haven't…uh…touched her?" he asked awkwardly.

"There is nothing more intimate between us than utter strangers," Pierre admitted, wondering if he'd inadvertently done something wrong.

_They haven't consummated…annulling this marriage would be easy enough…if it wasn't done in a church, then it wasn't even a valid marriage in the first place,_ Claude thought, _that's almost as good as no one claiming her. He looks half-starved…_

"I wish to make an arrangement," Claude said, the wheels turning in his head, "I wish to offer a gift of forty gold crowns to whomever has a claim on her. You, apparently, are that person."

"Your Excellency, I don't understand," Pierre admitted, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk.

"It's quite simple, really. I wish to keep her here," he said calmly.

_Is it just me or is he trying to buy my wife? _Pierre was beginning to think that the whole world was suddenly out to get Esmeralda.

"For what purpose?" Pierre asked innocently.

Claude's façade of calm remained intact on the surface, but underneath, he wondered if Pierre had any brains whatsoever. The boy had spent too much time writing poems and not enough time using his common sense. No wonder he could barely scrape together a living!

"For the purpose of shelter, of course," Claude said slowly, "of providing for her."

"Only that?"

The anger began to show through.

"You insinuate—HOW DARE YOU?"

Pierre knew just then that he had stuck his foot in his mouth.

"Forgive me, Your Excellency, but I am distraught with jealousy! My Esmeralda is in love with another man, the Sun God!"

Claude's expression of anger transformed into shock.

"Do you dare to jest with me?" he asked loudly.

"His name is Phoebus, he is Captain of the Royal Archers," Pierre spat, "and they have set a rendezvous for tonight at the Boar's Head Tavern!"

"What time?" Claude asked.

"Seven."

Pierre suddenly realized he had probably said too much.

"The gift still holds," Claude said, trying to regain his calm.

"No, Your Excellency. I will provide for her…if she'll let me."

"Then I have nothing further to say to you. Good day, Monsieur."

The paper he preceded to take his temper out on was what would have been a signed agreement between the two since Pierre could obviously read and write. He tossed the remnants of it into the fireplace and watched the edges curl up and darken. He decided to go find Dawn. Though he was still somewhat nervous about that situation, necessity compelled him to seek her out.

As he strode through the hallways, the things that Joseph had said earlier began to echo in his mind. It had been something to do with a baby...what would Dawn want with a baby? She did not seem the motherly type to him. Nervousness began to edge in under the anger. Was she doing something to the baby? What were her intentions?

He was out of breath by the time he reached the bell tower, and his temper had grown even worse. He was going to demand that the girl explain what she was up to, and if necessary, take the infant away from her by force.

What he saw knocked the belligerence right out of him.

The baby was asleep in a basket packed with blankets. Dawn's guitar sounded different—if Claude would have known anything about guitars, he'd have known that she switched off the distortion. A soft, lilting melody echoed around them. Quasimodo sat on the stairs to the next level of the tower and listened with a smile. His back had been bandaged up and there were dried tear-tracks on his cheeks.

"What's going on up here?" Claude demanded sharply.

"Shhh!" Dawn hissed, "the baby's asleep!"

Now he was just confused. He was so confused, in fact, he decided to humor her.

"I can see that," he hissed back, "but why is she _here?"_

Realizing that Claude required more than a one-worded answer, Dawn rose and switched the amplifier off so that the guitar wouldn't make noise when she set it down. She cautiously lifted the basket and asked Quasimodo to take the baby into the other room. He obeyed quickly, doing his best not to jar the basket. Once she heard the door shut with a satisfying creak, she turned back around to him.

"Do you realize I'd be held responsible if anything happened to her?" Claude demanded.

"Calm down," Dawn said dismissively, "she'll probably be in better shape now than she was before. I've fed her twice already and she didn't throw up either time. She's lactose intolerant and I told her parents to leave her with me for a week. They were going to lose _everything_ including her—I had to do _something._"

"What did you do to her?"

"Nothing major…I fed her goat's milk, that's all," Dawn told him, "it's the only thing she can digest right now. She'll be better off once she starts on solid food, but she has to stay away from cows' milk and maybe butter and cheese, I don't know. Time will tell if she can eat those or not."

He studied her carefully. He had heard numerous confessions over the years and he could always tell when someone wasn't being entirely honest. Unless she was just a _very_ good liar, she appeared to be truthful.

"Was it written in your book?"

He whispered that as though it were some sacred secret. Right about then, poor Claude looked ready to cry.

"No," Dawn sighed, "my cousin had the same exact problem when he was a baby. I had a guess, but there was no guarantees. Almost anything can upset a baby's belly."

She heard the baby whimper from the next room, then she heard Quasimodo talking to her.

"This book thing really messed you up, didn't it?" Dawn asked.

Arranging his features into a hard mask, he turned his now intense gaze back on her.

"I want to see it again. Right now."

Dawn shrugged and retrieved it. He thumbed through the pages to see the events of this morning transcribed exactly as they were.

"Have you read it since this morning?" he asked, voice growing frostier with each syllable.

"No," Dawn said truthfully, "I haven't had time."

He skimmed through the text again, suddenly realizing that only things that had happened were recorded.

"I don't see the future," he commented, "only the past."

"Yeah…" Dawn said, waiting on him to say something else.

"You can't be using it to tell the future," he said, thinking he had caught her in a lie.

"I don't."

The disappointment showed through his attempted mask.

"Then, how do you do it? You said that this book told you all about me."

"It did," Dawn sighed, hearing the suspicion in his voice, "where I was, that book was completely full. When I came here, the pages were blank. They filled in one by one. Your story is being rewritten, Claude."

A thunderous revelation burst loose in Claude's mind. There was an old metaphor about "the book of Life" that God's hand wrote in…it supposedly contained the life of every being he created and every event. This, he realized, must be _his_ book.

"Why would it be _re_written…" he wondered out loud, "…unless…."

Dawn waited.

"Is something going to happen to me?"

Her expression betrayed her. He could see that the grim shadows in her eyes said that something would and it wasn't a good thing. He began to tremble all over again. In his surge of adrenaline, he sprang out of the chair and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Tell me!" he demanded, voice high-pitched with panic.

"I can't," Dawn sighed, "it's against the rules."

"Against the rules?" Claude repeated incredulously.

"Yes…I can't tell you. You wouldn't want to know anyway…you're going through enough as it is," Dawn choked out.

He hadn't been hurting her, but the panic was contagious and made her throat tight. He released her, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself.

"What _can_ you tell me?"

His voice, much to her relief, was much steadier now.

"I can tell you not to go to the inn tonight," Dawn told him.

That made him mad again.

"Why not?"

"Because I know what you're going to do and it's going to get Esmeralda in trouble. When you run away, you'll escape cleanly but she won't. They'll find her kneeling over Phoebus and assume that she killed him. Claude, wait!"

But he had already retreated down the stairs. Dawn sighed, rubbing her forehead. The baby had woken from her nap and was fussing.

She patiently fed the baby, then changed her diaper. Though she hated that chore with a passion, she reminded herself that soiled diapers meant that the baby was getting nourishment and actually digesting things. She went over the directions three or four times with Quasimodo of what to do in case the baby cried again and disappeared out the door.

It was late afternoon. Dawn had to find Shadow. She had to find anybody that would be able to help. She'd have to figure out something or Claude and Esmeralda would both get in trouble.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

Dawn slowly raised her gaze.

_Boy, you have a funny sense of humor, God,_ she thought irritably.

It was none other than the captain of the guards himself. His voice was too smooth…the texture of it reminded Dawn of oil. It made her sick to her stomach just to hear it. If Claude's obsession with Esmeralda had caused most of the disaster at the end of the book, then Phoebus was the remainder of the equation in her mind.

"Hi," she said, obviously unimpressed by him, "have you seen a guy about this tall" (she gestured with her hand) "and with a hooded cloak?"

"I do believe you've described most of the gypsy population of Paris as well as some of the men of the cloth," Phoebus said dismissively, "maybe there's something _I_ could help you with?"

It didn't take much for Dawn to figure out what he was implying. Trying not to laugh, she shook her head.

"Afraid not," she responded, "I really should find him. He answers to 'Shadow' though I don't know what his real name is."

"Never heard of him."

It was then that Dawn thought she should switch tactics.

"You're supposed to be going somewhere tonight, aren't you?" she asked as casually as she could.

He didn't like the look in her eyes.

"Why would that concern you?" he asked, grinning impishly. This one wasn't nearly as pretty as the gypsy girl, but she appeared to be playing hard to get. If anything spurred him on, that usually did.

"Because it's a trap," Dawn told him, "Esmeralda has no earthly idea of it, but there will be a jealous man waiting for you there. He has every intention of killing you."

It was then that she realized she'd screwed up. What if she had told him too much and the guards actually caught Claude? _Uh-oh!_

"Do you question my abilities to defend myself? I'll have you know that I am captain for a reason," he snarled.

Her expression told him otherwise, but she didn't realize that her face was giving her away.

"Okay, then…" she said, wandering off to complete her quest. He let her go and stared at her retreating back. He wondered if she knew something he didn't.

He was sure she knew something he didn't. As the sun sank lower in the west, he wondered if he should heed her warning.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: The song that Dawn is attempting to write will later on become "Mon Essentiel". It doesn't sound much like it at the moment, but it's to show the process. It's a mixture of purposeful mistranslation and an attempt to rhyme stuff. I'm not claiming the song or Dawn's attempts to write the song.

There was a small meeting in a secret chamber across the street from Notre Dame. Neither Dawn nor Claude (or anyone else for that matter) knew about it. Shadow entered the room, still dressed as a priest. There were two or three others there as well. There was a petite young woman who wore a scarlet-colored hood with gold trim and there was a very large man who was decked out in full battle armor.

"What have you gotten this poor girl into? Can't you see that she's going to flounder? What were you thinking, bringing her six-hundred years into the past!"

The woman spoke first, voice hard as steel.

Shadow merely smiled.

"She wasn't happy where she was. The pendant went to her, just was as planned. Do you know how hard it was to get that thing to her? I kept watch with it for all that time, making sure that it didn't get lost, broken, or otherwise defaced."

The armored man placed his hand on Shadow's shoulder.

"Listen…I know that you have good intentions with the girl. I can see that you chose very carefully, but that doesn't guarantee a match. Even if our favorite archdeacon does come to his senses, they'll have the whole outside world to deal with. A man and woman in love isn't of concern here, but a priest—a very high-ranking one at that—that will start their tongues lashing."

"But they will have each other and they will have God," Shadow argued, "her faith is strong…I hear her prayers constantly. She is exactly what he needs. No more of these silly rules and limitations. The outside world will be the easy part."

Realizing that he wasn't going to get anywhere with Shadow at the moment, the armored man merely shook his head and smiled.

"Well…pray tell then, what exactly do you intend to do? The archdeacon has gotten it in his head that he's going to attack Phoebus tonight and eliminate the competition for Esmeralda's attention. Dawn is searching for you right this minute. We have pieces that don't quite fit together."

"Well…fortunately for us, Claude's haste and his fear won't inflict a fatal wound—he'll just stun Phoebus long enough for everyone to believe him dead. He'll lose a lot of blood, but he'll revive. Claude escapes, Esmeralda screams her pretty little head off, and they arrest her and put her on trial for murder."

"All right, then what?"

The woman sounded exasperated.

"Then, frightened, Claude doesn't know how to deal with what he's just done because he believes he has killed Phoebus. Dawn will step in at that point."

"What can she do?"

Shadow grinned.

"She'll convince him to go to Phoebus to perform last rites. He'll be so ashamed that he won't tell her about what he thinks he did. Then, he'll see that Phoebus is alive and there will be witnesses to see that he is."

…

Dawn sighed and made her way back to the cathedral. She had been unable to find Shadow, then she had been unable to find the inn. There would be a murder tonight…or potentially an attempted murder. She had tried to warn Phoebus earlier, but he dismissed it.

"Shadow, where have you been? It's fifteen after!"

Dawn was clearly distressed. The clock had chimed seven earlier and she'd felt her heart crack right in half.

"You can't interfere," Shadow warned her, "there were too many things that could have gone wrong if you'd stepped in."

"But-"

"I know you want to help them, but you'll have to let some things run their course," he said gently, "Claude will have to see _why_ his love for Esmeralda is so ill-fated. He must realize that he can and will hurt her if he doesn't let her go. You are his soft place to fall right now. He's beginning to trust you, but it's not enough yet. It will take the larger events to seal it."

Dawn nodded.

"I just thought of something…in the book, he had a brother. Jehan wasn't it? I was hoping I could track him down for Claude."

"That's a good idea. We'll start looking when things settle down," Shadow said, "in the meantime, you have a baby that needs tending. Quasimodo can't do it all night, you know."

"What about the others?"

"You'll hear something soon enough and you'll be called upon since you saved the baby. It will be assumed that you can heal Phoebus as well."

"Who's going to tell?"

"Remember the child's parents? They are friends of his."

Dawn stared.

"Small world," she commented with a shrug.

"Get your bag. There will be things for you to work with in there."

"But I'm not a paramedic!" Dawn objected.

"It's simple. All you have to do is get the bleeding to stop and bandage it up. You won't even need to make stitches. You can handle that, can't you?"

"I hope so."

Dawn, being the klutz that she was, had been forced to patch herself up numerous times. She had scars on her arms and legs from various accidents during childhood. Her mother had also worked as a nurse, so Dawn had lost her squeamishness of blood early in life. It was funny that she wasn't bothered by blood but other things that came out of one's body sometimes made her sick.

"Go upstairs. Claude will return shortly."

Dawn sighed and started to turn.

"When are you coming back?" she asked, knowing that Shadow never stayed with any stretch of time.

"When I come," he answered vaguely.

Dawn went upstairs.

She began to suspect everything. Shadow was the cagiest person she'd ever met…she wasn't even sure he was totally human. For someone human, he seemed to know an awful lot. Too much, in fact. She had this distinct impression that she was being used as a pawn, but she didn't have enough evidence to prove it. The more that time went on, the more she suspected.

Just for experimentation, Dawn removed the necklace. All around her, she could hear the musical chime of French, but she didn't understand a word of it. Upon refastening the chain around her neck, she understood them again. Feeling thoroughly worn out, she went upstairs.

Quasimodo was trying to comfort the wailing baby, but he was unsuccessful. He was relieved when Dawn emerged and hastily offered the crying infant.

"She won't eat and she's not wet," Quasimodo told Dawn, "I don't know what else to do!"

He looked near tears as well.

"It's all right," Dawn told him, "thank you for watching her while I was gone."

Relieved to see that Dawn wasn't mad, he relaxed.

"I would stay, but I have chores to do. Even when my master isn't here, I have to do them," he said apologetically. Dawn nodded and watched him retreat.

She lay the baby against her shoulder and rubbed her back. A belch and a trickle of spit-up later, she seemed all right. It had just been a simple gas bubble.

"Well, you're getting stronger," Dawn commented, "you couldn't scream like that if you were dying."

The baby looked up at her. A fuzzy picture formed in Dawn's mind of her mother. Dawn tensed and shook her head.

"That was weird," she mumbled.

The baby began to whimper again.

"I know," Dawn sighed miserably, "you miss your mama. She'll be back soon, I promise. And you'll be healthy and she and you and your dad will all be happy."

It seemed neat and tidy enough. She wished things in her own family had gone so smoothly. Her thoughts drifted to her own mother, whom she hadn't thought about for a long time.

"You know what? I'm feeling kind of crummy," Dawn told the baby, "I feel like playing some music."

She retrieved the guitar and began to play a lilting melody.

"This is going to be a good song," she commented, "too bad I can't think of words to go with it. Ah, well."

She began to hum along with it. Random words began to flow out of her mouth and she scribbled some of them down periodically.

"It's kind of sloppy," she admitted, "but what do you think?"

To her astonishment, the infant smiled.

"Well, then! I guess I'll have to work on it some more," Dawn said. Though the lyrics were just random thoughts put together, she knew not to dismiss them too quickly, for tangles of ideas often developed into something greater once they were polished up.

"I have learned your love…I taste it in your tears…I wish I could be enough…you helped me overcome my fears…I want everything you want…I want to be everything you need…the rest of them don't matter because it's up to you and me…everything's up to us…"

She was unaware that she was being watched.

"You're my everything…you made be reborn…you're my everything…the one I'm meant to love forever…"

The door creaked closed, but she never heard it. Squishie was enthusiastically chewing on a meat bone left over from dinner and the baby was fascinated by the guitar. Dawn was too busy being in her own mind to hear it. In truth, when Dawn started working on anything to do with music or art, a nuclear bomb could have gone off right under her and she might not even notice.

Claude had not understood what she was singing—it was in an entirely different language. He assumed it was her native tongue. It was the first time he'd even heard her sing. Under normal circumstances, he might have enjoyed it. The voice that came out of her short, stocky body was thoroughly unexpected and she had a perfect voice for a choir. Unfortunately, that voice tortured him and made him feel far worse than he already felt. Ashamed and alone, he retreated to his cell with tears pouring down his pale cheeks.


	9. Chapter 9

"Oh God…Save me, help me! She's a witch, a demon! I am bewitched! Deliver me from the evil of her wicked ways!" Claude pleaded frantically, "I am not strong enough to escape!"

The shutters on the window burst open and a violent breeze blew in. The candles guttered and the small tear-drop shaped flames were snuffed, leaving only tendrils of smoke. The fire in the fireplace ruffled and left a shimmering bed of coals. Claude was immersed in almost total darkness within seconds. Frightened out of his wits, Claude knelt completely prostrate on the hard stone floor. Fresh tears glittered on his cheeks like precious crystals.

"Claude Frollo…" a voice whispered out of the darkness.

Claude was too shocked for words. He was too frightened to raise his head. He felt rather than heard the source of the voice approach him. He made a strange, high-pitched noise when someone touched his back.

"You have nothing to fear," the voice whispered to him, "don't be frightened."

All at once, warmth began to radiate from the hand on his back. Claude's ragged breath began to smooth out as his heart rate slowed. Another hand grazed his cheek and rested there, similar to the way a parent would soothe a child. Claude closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

The voice seemed to echo all around him, and his insides vibrated as if it resonated from inside him as well. It was melodic, as soft as a breeze and as glorious as a loud clap of thunder at the same time. There was an odd familiarity there as though he had heard its timbre before.

"This is quite a predicament you've gotten yourself into…see what happens when you take matters into your own hands?"

Claude opened his eyes, but all he saw was a glowing mist. The mist filled the whole room and made it impossible to see who was there—not that he had any doubts.

"My Esmeralda is not your problem, Claude. You do not need to be saved from her—it is yourself that you need to be saved from."

Claude must have looked surprised, for the voice continued:

"You have made your life about rules, regulations, dos and don'ts. You and those like you have made your own lives so complicated that you have standards in which no one could possibly adhere to. I gave my children ten rules when they asked—I carved them into those tablets myself. Was my word so inadequate that all those other demands needed to be added?"

"N-no…of course not…" Claude stuttered.

"Then why insist on doing it?"

He didn't have an answer.

"Do you trust me, Claude Frollo, archdeacon of Josas?"

"Of course, Father…"

Claude was barely able to form the words.

"Do you believe that I would not put you into a situation that would purposely destroy you?"

"Yes, Father…"

"Remember that. I will give you another chance, but you must remember who is really in charge. It is not your decision when a life ends or your duty to judge another. Do you understand?"

"Yes…"

Claude was shaking so violently now that he felt his nerves would rattle apart. Despite the scolding he had just received, he could still feel love pouring from the presence.

"What did my Son tell you to do?"

"Love thy neighbor as thyself and put no other God before Thou…" Claude recited.

"Good. Now go and do it."

The mist vanished. Claude was left kneeling alone in the dark, but he knew perfectly well that he was never truly alone. Thoroughly shaken to the core, he staggered to his feet and lit a candle. In his mind, there was no place to go but up, both figuratively and literally.

The bell tower was silent and dark when he ascended the staircase. Only one candle was left burning and that was the one in the wall-sconce. The baby was asleep in her basket. Dawn was slumped against the wall sitting across the bed. Her guitar was still resting in her lap. He thought she looked sort of innocent. That thought slammed to a halt when a bead of saliva glittered on her chin.

_That's a little too innocent for my tastes…yuck!_

He no longer had any reservations about waking her up. He leaned forward and rested his hand on her shoulder. He shook her gently at first, then increased the pressure until she stirred.

"No…tell Greaves I'm skipping class today," she mumbled, pulling away from him.

"Dawn!" he hissed in her ear. She jolted awake then, and stared at him. In the paltry light, her dark eyes seemed huge.

"What?" she snapped irritably.

He wasn't sure where to begin, so he let her cast a scrutinizing gaze while he tried to think of a way to tell her he'd screwed up royally. How exactly did one start a conversation involving a murder?

"You look terrible," she said, seeing his ashen face and swollen, puffy eyes. There were heavy rings beneath them as well.

"You're not exactly a spring rose, either," he spat irritably. Her hair was a mess, her dress had a spit-up stain on the front, and she definitely could use a bath.

"Okay…now that we've traded insults, what did you do?"

The crankiness was knocked right out of him then. Her expression softened when the horrified look bloomed on his face.

"You didn't!" she said, tone loaded with disbelief.

"I did," he sighed, "and, once again, you were right. About everything."

Dawn smacked her forehead. He waited for her to give him a tongue-lashing, perhaps even strike him for his stupidity. Lord knew he deserved it…

"Okay, okay…what was it that Shadow said earlier….OH! Come on! I'll explain on the way!"

She bounded clumsily off the bed and fell forward. He caught her, but she almost took him down as well. Sighing with impatience, he helped her right her balance. Dawn's limbs were still heavy with sleep. She slipped the straps of her small bag over her shoulders.

"What if the baby-"

"Quasi can take care of the baby! Come ON!"

She tugged him forward so forcefully that he tripped. He wasn't sure what surprised him more: that she had the willingness to help or that she had given the bell-ringer a nickname.

She dragged him outside.

"What time is it?" she asked, puzzled.

Claude wondered why she cared about that, but he told her anyway just to placate her.

"You're joking…I know that more time must have passed! It's only seven-forty five?"

Claude was just as shocked as she was. The time between his stabbing Phoebus and finding her had certainly _seemed_ much longer!

"Oh! You were just the person I hoped I would see! You must come quickly! Phoebus is dying!"

Dawn just registered that the woman dragging her along the stone street was the woman whose baby she was taking care of. Dawn still had hold of Claude's sleeve, so he was dragged along with her. They reached the house and the woman shoved them both upstairs.

"The archdeacon as well…God must have mercy on this man!" she whimpered, obviously very upset.

Claude's shame began to grow.

Phoebus was laying on his side since the wound was in his back. Dawn didn't wait on anyone. She yanked his shirt back.

"No, this will never work," she sighed, "it can't be a _wet_ rag!"

She tossed the soiled rag aside and grabbed a clean, dry one.

"Do whatever it is preachers do!" she hissed impatiently to Claude. She didn't like him standing over her the way he did. It made her nervous.

Claude's mind was drifting. He performed the last rites by rote. His voice sounded dead and cold. He felt horrible…would God really forgive him if he admitted he really didn't care just then if Phoebus lived or died?

Phoebus had lost enough blood that he was hardly even conscious. The only thing Dawn got out of him was a groan when she pressed the cloth more firmly to his wound.

"Hold this," Dawn demanded to Claude. Claude's hand closed over the rag while she began to rifle through her bag. Shadow had said that she would find everything she needed in here.

"Well…Got the whole Mary-Poppins thing going on here," she commented, producing a first-aid kit.

Claude looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"I'll explain later," she promised.

A young blonde woman bolted into the room. She was breathing raggedly.

"Phoebus! I must see him!" she demanded.

Dawn looked up from the box she was examining.

"Okay…" she said slowly, "you can hold his hand if you want, but stay up by his head. You'll get in the way otherwise."

The girl did as she was told.

"Here we go," Dawn said, producing a small packet of antiseptic wipes and some gauze pads.

"What happened to him?" the blonde girl demanded.

"Well…from my understanding, _somebody_ got a _little jealous_ that he was getting all the attention…"

Dawn made a stabbing motion. Claude gave her a Look. If looks could kill, she'd have died right there.

"I heard about that horrid little witch! I hope she rots in Hell!" the blonde girl said with as much conviction as she could muster.

"What makes you think it was her?" Dawn asked, trying to sound casual.

"I know her kind…she was after my Phoebus and when he turned her away, she went into a murderous rage!"

"Hmmm…."

Dawn was sure she knew who the woman was now although Phoebus had many admirers.

"And you are…?" Dawn probed.

"I am his fiancée," she said proudly, "the others tried to claim his heart, but _I_ succeeded."

Dawn decided not to argue with her. She'd find out soon enough.

"Let's see if the bleeding stopped," she told Claude. He cautiously removed the bloodied cloth.

"Good…doesn't look too awful. He'll be pretty sore for a few days, but I think he'll make it. I don't think any important stuff got hit even though I'm not exactly a surgeon."

She cleaned up the wound as best as she could. She was grateful that Claude seemed to have only gouged muscle. Then, she lay the gauze pad against the wound and secured it with paper tape. Smoothing down his shirt, she glanced up at Fleur.

"Do yourself a favor and keep a close eye on this one," she told Fleur, "keep his butt in bed and out of trouble for a few days."

She gave Fleur the wipes and the gauze and told her how to change the dressings. Then, she and Claude left.

"I know you must be very busy," the woman downstairs said, "but I must know…how is our child?"

"She's doing really good. You can pick her up tomorrow if you want to," Dawn said, "but make sure you have a goat around. She'll have to live on goat's milk until she's ready to eat solid food."

The woman nodded and hugged Dawn so hard that something snapped.

"Ah…okay…you're welcome…" Dawn choked out.

"Thank you, thank you so much! You must be an angel sent from God!"

Maybe it had been the stress surrounding the last few days, maybe it was because everyone was exhausted beyond their limits. Claude and Dawn looked at each other and started to laugh.

"Nope…afraid not," Dawn said humorously, "I bang into stuff too much. And last time I tried to fall, I fell out of a tree and landed on my head."

"Well, whatever you are, I am forever grateful," the woman sighed, "I had hoped I could hold my baby again and I _prayed…_"

She turned to Claude and hugged him too. He squirmed uncomfortably and gave her a small pat on the back. He wasn't used to being touched.

"And thank you, Your Worship, for praying for my child! The two of you make quite a pair!"

Claude was unable to say anything.

"Well, I hope everything works out. We'd love to stay but we really should be going," Dawn said, sliding one arm around Claude and steering him to the door.

"Please do visit anytime you like! You're always welcome at our home!" the woman called after them.

The icy night air was a welcome reprieve from the baking hot house and too many people in one room. Dawn breathed it in deeply. She loved the cold; it slid in and out of her lungs as easily as quicksilver.

"Why?"

Claude's voice interrupted the relaxed silence. Dawn turned to face him.

"Why what?" she asked, then she held up a hand. She took hold of his sleeve again and led him away from the houses. When they came to the area down by the river, she released it.

"I didn't want anyone hearing us," she confessed, "I'm paranoid about that kind of stuff."

He nodded. He understood completely.

"Now then…why what?" she repeated.

"Why everything…"

He trailed off, throat constricting.

"Pick something," Dawn said. She stooped and picked up a flat rock. The thing skipped across the water two or three times before it sank.

"Why did you help me?"

Dawn turned to face him.

"Is that a trick question?"

Judging by his expression, it wasn't.

"Okay…well, I see how you are with people. You're a nice guy, but you put too many rules on everything. You're as rigid as a stone. It's good in the sense that you can hold stuff together really well when everybody else freaks out, but it's crippling you, too. You're really aloof and distant to them…it's like you're too scared to get to know them. You don't let anybody in. That day when Quasimodo got beat out in front of Notre Dame…when you rode past him, I was watching. You looked at him like he was a stranger."

Dawn suddenly realized she'd probably said too much and abruptly stopped talking. Upon seeing Claude turn away, she placed a hand on his arm.

"Sorry," she said quickly, "don't listen to me. Open mouth, insert whole leg. I think my worst quality is that I talk too much. I got a degree in psychology and I act like I know everything."

Claude wasn't sure what that meant, but it didn't matter anyway. He glanced down at her pale hand turned silver by the moonlight. It contrasted starkly against the black robes he wore.

"You're right," he mumbled, "I've forgotten what my real purpose was over the years…"

It was very late by the time they arrived back at the cathedral, almost ten. Dawn was stubbornly insisting that she wasn't cold even though she was shivering violently. He told her to take his cloak.

"I'm fine," Dawn said through clenched teeth.

"Take it or I'll have you thrown out," he said firmly.

"I don't believe you."

She took it anyway. She could have sworn he almost smiled. Huddled in the thick black material that was still warm from him, she felt her optimism returning.

_Okay, kid, you're not a teenager anymore. Don't get your hopes up like last time,_ she chided herself internally.

"If anybody asks, pretend like you don't know," Dawn told him, "you'll be called to court tomorrow. I don't know if they'll let me in or not, but I'll see what I can do."

He nodded, watching her go up the stairs. She forgot to give him back his cloak, but he didn't care. He had another one.

Dawn dropped into bed exhausted. She got up two minutes later when the baby cried and changed her diaper. Thirty minutes later, the baby was hungry. Satisfied that she would sleep for a little bit, Dawn wrapped herself back up in the cloak and lay down again.

_My God does he smell good…_was Dawn's last coherent thought before she fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

The courtroom was a scary place to Dawn. There were much too close to the torture chamber and she could hear the screams of those who were being tortured. Shuddering, she wished she could be closer to Claude. She hoped that Shadow would be here somewhere, but she couldn't see him anywhere in the crowd.

Claude was wearing scarlet robes and a black cap. Outwardly, he did a great job of keeping his composure, but inwardly might be a whole different matter. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he was too busy looking at Esmeralda.

The witnesses were called one by one. All of them had something nasty to say except for Dawn.

"There was a door up the stairs," Dawn told them, "somebody could have easily escaped out that door. And there's a good chance that the scream you heard was a scream of fear—if I'd seen somebody get murdered, I think I'd have screamed my head off, too."

"How would you know where there is and isn't a door? You were under sanctuary, correct?"

"Yes, but I saw the interior before I got in trouble. Phoebus is alive—I can even tell you where he's staying."

"And you know this because…?"

"Because the archdeacon went to administer last rites and I patched the hole in Phoebus's back up. The puncture wasn't even lethal," Dawn said dismissively, "it just bled a lot."

"The court will investigate Captain Phoebus's whereabouts later," the judge said dismissively, "but stabbing a man with the intent to kill him is as sinful as murder itself! Now, I will address the defendant. Stand!"

Esmeralda did.

"You are charged with witchcraft and murder. On January the eighth, you did stab a captain of the royal archers…"

Esmeralda shook her head.

"I am innocent!" she insisted.

"Then how do you explain what took place?" the judge asked.

"It was someone else," Esmeralda said.

"Who?"

Esmeralda looked straight at Claude with a venomous look.

"I could see him clearly," she told the judge.

She was scared. Dawn could hardly blame her, but she hoped that Esmeralda didn't end up shooting herself in the butt.

"Yes, then who was it?" he asked impatiently.

"The archdeacon."

The courtroom erupted into loud and opinionated comments.

"BLASPHEMY!" several people yelled. Dawn glanced over at Claude, who had paled.

"The court will not record the prisoner's last statement," the judge said.

Dawn was tuning out the rest of it. She looked over at Claude. For one instant, he allowed his gaze to answer. He was worried, Dawn could see, and rightfully so. His face had been rearranged into that stone-hard mask that he often got when he didn't want other people to see what he really felt.

"I recommend the application of torture until we gain your confession," the judge said much too cheerfully.

Claude's eyes closed and his head bowed. Others might have thought that he was praying for the savage witch that was being dragged out. People were moving around too much for her to go talk to him.

"I thank you for trying to defend my wife," Pierre told her, "unfortunately, I don't think our judge takes kindly to women's opinions."

"I don't know why not," Dawn answered, "we have eyes, ears, and brains just like men do…"

Of course, she knew that this wasn't 2010 and that the world had a long way to go in terms of equality.

"The archdeacon is hiding something," Pierre said suspiciously, "I can feel it."

"Like what?" Dawn inquired, trying to sound innocent.

"You should know…you live in the cathedral now. I'm surprised you haven't left yet."

"Yeah…" Dawn agreed halfheartedly.

The gypsy king merely gave a knowing smile and she avoided looking at him. She desperately wanted to go find Claude, but there was no way that she could slip out unnoticed. She only hoped that it wouldn't be much longer. She already knew what they were going to do to Esmeralda and it made the acid rise in the back of her throat.

"What a cruel wench to keep us waiting when we haven't had our supper!" the judge announced.

Dawn wanted to throw something at him, but she refrained from showing a reaction. If she had her way, he'd get his comeuppance soon enough.

…

Claude slunk into the hallways and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. It was hard to do when he wore red robes and the walls were gray. It was ironic, he thought, that he wore clothes the color of blood. If things didn't change soon, he'd have Esmeralda's blood on his hands. Dawn had warned him against falling in love with her, but he had been unable to help himself. He followed the sound of her voice. The torturer, the assistants, and the physician were oblivious to his presence there. He gazed down at her through the barred window. Each time she screamed, he felt as though his soul were being slashed. Each time she screamed, a slash mark would appear on his chest. The cold blade bit into his pale flesh again and again in conjunction with her cries of pain.

"I CONFESS!" she sobbed brokenly. Claude bowed his head and was only vaguely aware of the warm trickle of blood that soaked into the lining of the robes. The blade of the dagger had come dangerously close to his heart as he anticipated the next scream. He used the inside of his sleeve to wipe the blade off and replaced it numbly in his belt. Once again, his face assumed the rigid, uncaring mask. Only the seething, burning pain seemed real.

…

"WHAT?"

Dawn's yelp was lost in the crowd's reaction when the sentence was pronounced. Despite all their best efforts, Esmeralda still received the death penalty. Claude's head bowed again. He pinched the bridge of his nose as though he had a terrible headache. Pierre stared in disbelief.

"It can't be," Dawn whispered, "Shadow told me…"

There was only one way this could possibly work out in their favor…it must not be over yet. The amulet on her neck flashed a little bit at this revelation. She decided she'd make an effort to go downstairs and see Esmeralda as soon as she could.

…

Meanwhile, in another room just across the hallway from the courtroom, Shadow and his two companions were in a meeting of their own.

"I'm failing to see the logic here," the armored man told Shadow, "you said that if Dawn was a witness and patched Phoebus up that she could get Esmeralda off."

"I said it might work," Shadow answered, "besides, the most important thing is that Claude now trusts Dawn with his life. The gypsy girl won't hang—I'll see to that. There are a few things that must happen first."

"You've been saying that," the hooded woman responded, "and we have yet to see it. You've got Paris in an uproar right now."

"Have patience and have faith," he told her, "it's not time to give up yet."

…

Dawn couldn't find Claude anywhere. It was already late in the evening now. She had cleaned the baby up as best as she could and was getting ready to reunite her with her mother. The woman's name, she had discovered, was Marguerite.

"Here she is," Dawn said cheerfully, "make sure you only feed her goat's milk. She'll be able to eat normally once she's ready for solid food, I think. This will make it easier to feed her—just make sure you wash it out every time you use it. If you heat the milk up to where it's warm, she won't get as big of a bellyache."

"Oh, thank you," Marguerite said, hugging Dawn, "we owe your our lives—all of us. We're naming the baby after you."

"Thanks," Dawn said awkwardly. She gave Marguerite the bottle that she'd just shown her and watched her walk away.

"I won't miss the diapers, but I'll definitely miss her," Dawn sighed.

"We all will."

Dawn almost jumped out of her skin. Claude had come up behind her.

"Will you stop doing that? One of these days you're going to scare me so bad that I'll die of shock!" Dawn snapped.

She saw his face and her expression softened.

"Rough day, huh?"

"Very."

She reached around to hug him, but he winced visibly. She peeled the edge of his robe back.

"My God, Claude! What happened?"

His expression said that he didn't want to talk about it.

"Let's get those cuts cleaned out—I don't want you getting sick on top of everything else."

She didn't press because she already knew. Something about how she neither rejected him nor showed an overabundance of pity made him feel less chaotic on the inside. He allowed her to lead him upstairs where she had left the first-aid kit.

"It's not over, you know," she told him. He hissed in pain as the sting of the antiseptic seemed to scald the gashes.

"How? She's been condemned to die for something _I_ did. God bless you…you tried so hard and it didn't work."

She looked into his eyes. There was a cold deadness there.

"Claude? How many times have I not listened to people telling me I can't do stuff?"

"I've lost count."

"I know you think I'm a pain, but I just wasn't born to sit back and behave. It's just not the way I'm made."

He watched as her hands secured the gauze pad with paper tape.

"Any deeper and those would have needed stitches," she said warningly, "I'm afraid I can't help you there…the idea of shoving a needle into someone's skin over and over gives me the willies."

_In other words, don't keep doing this to yourself,_ she thought.

"Why do I love her, Dawn? What did either of us do to deserve this?"

He hated how childlike the words sounded and regretted speaking. Dawn was glad his head was down—she didn't want him to see the surprise that rippled across her features. She found herself smiling despite the bleakness of the situation. He was opening up to her.

"You didn't have to do _anything,_" Dawn said, laying her hand on his, "it just happened. You saw her and thought she was pretty. Then you saw that she was good to Quasimodo and you liked that. Then you saw her with Phoebus and how he was such a pig to her and it drove you nuts. It's just bad luck that you picked one that doesn't feel the same way."

He looked up at her, eyes dark with weariness.

"She'll never love me, will she?"

Dawn's hesitation told him the answer to that.

"I really don't think so," Dawn said honestly, "not the way you're going about this."

"Is there another way?"

Dawn braced herself against the burst of laughter that wanted to escape.

"You have to show her that you care about what _she_ wants," Dawn told him, "all this time, you've been thinking your wants and your needs and you, you, you. Have you ever once asked her what she wants?"

"No…" he admitted guiltily.

"Well, you should try it sometime. I can't guarantee that it's going to make her fall in love, but she won't feel so badly towards you if she sees you're trying. The first good way is to get her sprung from prison without asking anything of her in return. She may never come back, but she might think about it."

"How? There are guards everywhere."

"Okay…I guess we're going with the original storyline, then."

Seeing his confused expression, she held the book up.

"The way it was originally written was that she was taken to the platform thingy to be hung. You told her that you could still save her, but she just rejects the offer."

"There's no hope, is there?"

His voice broke at the last. Dawn flinched inwardly. She wasn't sure why she was putting him through this, but something told her not to give Quasimodo's hero moment away.

"I can't say," she admitted, for when she really did try to tell him, the words wouldn't come out and her tongue lay limply at the bottom of her mouth.

He took a deep, shuddering breath in with his hands over his face. Before Dawn even thought about what she was doing, she reached around and pulled him into her arms. All it took was her touch and Claude fell apart.

"She's going to die and it's all my fault…" he sobbed.

Dawn rubbed his back in small circles. She had never been very good with crying people…she almost always said something to make them feel worse by accident, so she chose not to say anything. Tears glittered in her own eyes because she hated seeing him hurt like this.

Her cheek rubbed against his ash-blonde hair. In the sunlight, the reddish tint that couldn't ordinarily be seen was coming out and making it shine. He smelled so good…candle flames, she thought, ink and parchment and incense as well.

_Poor guy…she has one that loves him and she can't even see it because of that damned Phoebus…I wish she could see him through my eyes. _

Through the haze of tears, he could faintly hear her whispering something in her native tongue.

"What?" he choked out, afraid she was talking to him and he'd missed it.

"Shhh…I'm praying," she told him.

Squishie, Dawn's little hairball of a dog, must have been sympathetic to Claude as well, for she jumped up on the bed and licked at his hand. She wagged her tail enthusiastically and looked up at him with her big dark eyes. When he didn't respond, she pawed at his arm and whined.

"Aw, look! She's telling you not to worry," Dawn said warmly. She scratched behind Squishie's ears and under her chin.

"I wish people were more like dogs," Dawn sighed when Claude released his grip on her, "we'd probably fight a lot less…we'd be in a lot less pain."

She scooped the dog up and kissed her noisily on the top of her fuzzy head. After Squishie grew tired of her master's gesture of affection, she made the short journey from Dawn's lap to Claude's. Before Claude had a chance to react, the dog jumped and slurped him right in the face.

Dawn giggled as he peeled her away from his face.

"She's a good judge of character, you know. She tried to bite Phoebus," Dawn said, still laughing.

"Good dog," Claude said mischievously, patting her.

"Ahroooroorooo!" Squishie said. It sounded as though she agreed with him.

"You haven't been around her much, have you? This is probably the only dog in the world that you could lose an argument to," Dawn told him jokingly, "you'll probably see it eventually."

A companionable silence fell between them for a moment.

"If there was truly no hope, you would have gone by now, wouldn't you?"

The question came out of nowhere, but Claude felt that he needed to ask. When Dawn looked up at him, he couldn't read her expression, so he continued:

"If you were to…ehm…slip out, I wouldn't tell anyone," he said.

"Much appreciated," Dawn answered, "but I don't think I'm supposed to leave yet."

It didn't answer his question directly, but he felt better for some reason.

"Well, then…I have duties I need to attend to. There is a Mass this evening, so please don't play that instrument of yours too loudly."

Dawn grinned.

"Unless it gets too quiet," she said.

"I mean it."

"As do I."

For a minute, he stared at her incredulously, but then realized she was joking. Shaking his head, he left. He needed to change his robes and make sure everything was prepared. Dawn watched him walk away.

"You were kind to my master," Quasimodo said, "you care about him."

Dawn nodded.

"Probably more than I should," she admitted.

"How can someone care too much?" Quasimodo asked, truly confused.

It was a good question.

"You love him."

Quasimodo had made that a statement, not a question.

"I'm not sure," Dawn sighed, "I'm not supposed to."

"Why aren't you supposed to?"

"Because life isn't fair."

"I have to ring the bells now."

"Okay."


	11. Chapter 11

Neither of them went to the dungeon that night. Though Claude wanted to see Esmeralda in the worst way, he didn't dare go after Dawn told him not to. Dawn was quiet the rest of the night…that had him considerably worried. She was _never_ quiet.

She was awake before the sun came up and so was he. They nearly scared the crap out of each other when they collided in a hallway.

"MMPH!" Dawn yelped, her voice muffled by Claude's hand. Realizing it was him, she stopped struggling and he let go of her.

"You guys really ought to consider better lighting," she mumbled, one hand over her pounding heart.

"What's your excuse tonight?" he asked her.

"Force of habit," she answered, "I got used to the baby waking me up at four thirty."

She studied him carefully. Though she couldn't see his face and only a little of his silhouette from the burning torch a few feet away, she knew.

"You're already dressed."

"Yes."

"Come on."

They went into the kitchen. He noticed that Dawn was carrying a rectangular-shaped pouch that had a green and white stamp on the front.

"What's that?"

"Coffee. You guys won't have it around for a while yet, but I figured this would be our little secret."

She opened the bag. Claude wasn't sure what he expected to see, but the contents looked an awful lot like dirt to him.

"Coffee is made from a special type of bean," she explained, "they grind it up and then brew it. In my place, they also filter it to keep the grounds out of the actual drink. Since we don't have any filter paper, I guess we'll have to make do with what we have."

"So…it's like tea?"

"Sort of."

Dawn had to start the water boiling. In order to do that, they had to build the fire up in the stove. She looked around the kitchen and saw a clean cloth that was just big enough to work.

"Watch this," she told him, feeling like she was pretty clever. She poured some of the grounds into the middle of the rag and tied it tightly into a bundle. Being sure that the knot wouldn't come loose, she tossed it into the boiling water. The smell of coffee began to fill the kitchen. Claude wasn't sure if he liked it or not. It was awfully strong…

"Okay…here's your first lesson in coffee. Coffee with nothing in it is called 'black coffee' or in my case 'I can't drink this stuff'. I always add milk and sugar to mine. You know how hot tea has a tendency to warm you up when you're cold? Coffee has a very interesting effect on people. It makes you less tired. You'll feel more awake…you might even feel a little hyper since this is your first time. It's supposed to do that…just like ginger helps colds and lavender helps calm people down."

She poured some milk into her cup and also tossed in a few heaping teaspoons of sugar. It wasn't good for her, but she had yet to be a confirmed diabetic from this habit. The pan had been sitting off of the fire for a few minutes now, so the coffee was hot but not boiling. Using another mug, she dipped it out of the pan and dumped it into the cup with the milk. After a vigorous stir, she tasted the mixture.

"Ah…there we go. Want some?"

The flavor was unusual, but not unpleasant. He wasn't sure he could have drank it without the milk and sugar. After Claude took a big drink, Dawn retrieved another mug for him. When the cook came in, she was about to chastise Dawn for the mess, but she shut up when she saw Claude. No one would dare tell the archdeacon where he could and couldn't go. Just the same, Dawn refilled her cup, Claude refilled his, and they left the kitchen.

The sanctuary was empty and dark. It was cold there, but they were warm from the caffeine and they would be able to talk there.

"Please tell me what's going to happen," Claude begged.

"I can't."

"_Please_…I feel as though my soul is going to rip into two…"

"I want to," Dawn admitted, "but every time I try, I just can't seem to get it out. I guess you won't know until it happens."

"Can you tell me whether it's good or bad?"

She tried, but no sound came out.

"I guess not," she sighed, "sorry…"

He shrugged.

"Thank you…even if you can't tell me. You've already done much more than anyone could ever ask."

She knew he was hurting, but he wouldn't be for much longer, hopefully.

"Let's go upstairs," she suggested, "it's cold up there, too, but we can watch the sunrise."

It sounded trivial and childish in her mind, but he rose when she did. If he thought her idea was silly, he didn't say so. It took them another few minutes to get up the stairs. They had to stop several times and drink or risk the coffee sloshing over the sides of the cups. It was still very hot, so that wouldn't have been any fun.

They sat side by side on Dawn's bed. The sky had just started to lighten and there was a red streak in the east.

"The place where I used to live when I first moved out on my own faced the east," she told him, "the first thing I used to do was open the blinds and the sun would come pouring in. It was a nice way to wake up."

"The university?"

She turned, surprised he remembered her saying something about it.

"Yeah…those were the days," she said with a small laugh, "nothing to do but eat, sleep, go to class, and stay out late. I didn't have to pay for anything then—my parents took the bill. Unfortunately, the economy in our country took a nosedive and I couldn't get a job once I graduated. My parents insisted that I not work while I was in school so that I would study more. I'm beginning to think we all made a big mistake because they wouldn't hire me without work experience. Where I come from, women don't depend on men for support. We do all kinds of jobs and it's up to us whether we can make it or not."

"That's…different…"

"I know it sounds a little weird," Dawn said, her gaze on the horizon, "there's customs here that I don't entirely get, too. Like that one that says married women can't show their hair—I guess it would keep a guy from hitting on a married woman, but still…"

Claude had to stifle a laugh. The way she said it amused him.

"There they come," she commented as people began to gather down below, "it won't be much longer now."

Cold fear began to make his stomach churn. He cringed inwardly, feeling somewhat sick.

"Easy…" she whispered, "take a breath. Good. Take another one."

He hurried down the stairs, Dawn and Squishie hot on his heels.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

"I am supposed to ask her if she has prayed for forgiveness."

He was amazed that he was even still so coherent. Dawn saw his hands shaking and wondered if it was the fear or the coffee.

"Are you all right, sir? You seem…jumpy," Joseph commented to Claude. The procession readied itself to go outside. Esmeralda was already there. Joseph turned to Dawn.

"Get back in the bell tower! We have enough to deal with as it is!" he snarled.

Dawn wanted to punch him, but she refrained from doing it. Instead, she stuck her tongue out at him. Squishie turned her butt to him. Deciding that her dog was probably smarter than she was, Dawn turned as well and they went back up the stairs.

She went onto the ledge to watch. Quasimodo was getting antsy and seemed to not notice her. That was okay; she decided not to interfere. If he was thinking what she thought he was thinking, then the whole matter would be over soon enough.

"Sorry about your speech impediment this morning," Shadow said, "I thought it best if Claude didn't know."

Dawn turned to look at him.

"Where did you come from? I didn't hear the door open or close," she commented.

"With all that noise coming from down there, I'm amazed you can hear anything," Shadow commented, "I see you decided to watch from up here."

"Yeah…he is going to do it, isn't he? I mean…"

"There he goes," Shadow said, gesturing to Quasimodo. He had secured a rope around something and was scaling down the side of the cathedral like a mountain climber would scale a cliff.

"Thank goodness," Dawn sighed, "I was worried about Claude."

"By the way, young lady," Shadow said, "we need to have a talk."

Dawn raised an eyebrow.

"I can smell the coffee on Claude's breath. You gave him some of it, didn't you?"

"Yes. I didn't know that was against the law," Dawn responded.

"Be careful. As I said before, some of those items are better left unshared. I don't think the coffee can hurt too much, but _no_ electronics, got it? Aside from the guitar, of course, because they've all already seen it."

Dawn nodded.

"Fine. I won't let anyone else drink the coffee," she sighed.

Quasimodo fought off the guards and seized Esmeralda.

"SANCTUARY!" he yelled, reaching the steps. She heard him run up the stairs.

"SANCTUARY!"

He held Esmeralda's unconscious form above his head. The crowd burst into cheers.

"Way to go, Quasi!" Dawn praised him. He lay the unconscious Esmeralda on the bed in the other room.

"Will she be all right?" Quasimodo asked.

Dawn pressed a finger against the pulse point in her neck.

"I think so," she said, "she's just passed out. I don't blame her—the excitement could have been a little bit much for me, too."

"Where is my master?" Quasimodo asked.

Dawn frowned.

"That's a good question. Shadow, where is he?"

"You'll find him when he's ready for you to find him."

"Will you stop talking in riddles and just tell me for a change?"

"You will find him on the dock by the river after the sun has completely set," Shadow said, deciding to humor just a little bit, "that's all you get and only because you've been so patient."

He turned to leave, but Dawn grabbed his sleeve.

"Oh, no you don't! You always leave! You stay here with us for a while!"

"I would," Shadow said with a smile, "but I have business to attend to elsewhere."

He dislodged her hand gently and started towards the door.

"I'll be back sometime tonight," he assured her, "you're getting along fine without me."

"But-"

He was gone again. When she chased him down the stairs, she discovered that he had completely disappeared.

"Ooookay…maybe I had a little too much coffee this morning," she lamented, "I could have sworn he was just right there…"

Squishie jumped on Esmeralda and whined, impatiently digging at her.

"Squish! Stop that! You let her alone," Dawn scolded her. She picked the dog up and got the distinct feeling that she was worried about Esmeralda.

"She'll wake up, Squish, don't panic."

Dawn kissed the top of her head and hugged her.

"See that ball over there? I'm going to get it…" she teased. She put Squishie down and advanced towards the ball. Squishie growled and tried to get to it first, but Dawn was too quick. She threw the ball across the room and Squishie scrambled after it. Quasimodo laughed and clapped his hands together. Squishie chased the ball down and carried it back in her mouth. Dawn had to wrestle it away from her, but she got it loose and threw it again. After Squishie brought it back the second time, Dawn tossed the ball to Quasimodo.

"Think fast!"

Squishie didn't like that. Laughing like a child, Quasimodo threw it back. Squishie ran between them, getting frustrated. After a while, they got her so mad that she was shaking. The next time Dawn threw it, Squishie sprang up and snatched it right of the air.

Quasimodo let out a shriek of childlike delight and applauded the little dog. Indignant at Dawn for always taking the ball away from her, she huffed and dropped the ball by Quasimodo.

The sun was nearly down when the poor little dog got exhausted and lay down. Dawn decided it was time to go find Claude.


	12. Chapter 12

He stared at his own reflection in the water. Of course, the river was never perfectly smooth, so his reflection was somewhat distorted. He saw a man in shades of black and white…or black and silver, to put it more accurately. The cold sank into his body and made it ache. The knife wounds on his chest ached. His soul ached. He wondered how he could hurt this much and still be alive. His eyes burned from the torrents of tears. It was as though a dam had burst inside his soul and he was doomed to these floods of regret and anguish. He wondered briefly if this was what it had been like when God flooded the earth…had God Himself been filled with such great sadness?

A voice echoed across the previously quiet landscape. It started out faintly and began to grow, just like ripples in the water.

"There's nothing you can do that can't be done…nothing you can sing that can't be sung….nowhere you can be that isn't where you were meant to be…it's easy…."

Claude's eyes squeezed shut for a moment. He'd know that voice anywhere.

"All you need is love…love…love is all you need…"

Dawn was singing as she walked. Though the song had originally been much faster, she sang it like a ballad. She was homesick for her Beatles playlist on the well-used laptop that had been left behind in the future.

Dawn grinned to herself. Left behind in the future…boy was that an oxymoron!

Her smile immediately vanished when she saw Claude standing by the water.

_He looks like a cross between a wilted flower and a fallen angel,_ she thought sadly.

Claude knew she had seen him because she was no longer singing. Part of him wanted her to continue in the worst way because he wouldn't have to talk. Part of him was glad she'd stopped. How could she be singing about love at a time like this? His Esmeralda was dead because of his own selfishness.

Dawn's footsteps seemed unbearably loud as she stepped onto the rickety wooden dock. He felt the vibrations coming closer.

"Hi, Claude."

He wouldn't look at her. She was almost certain he didn't know. Somehow, he'd avoided hearing about Quasimodo's very big rescue earlier. She wondered how—the people around the scaffold had made a huge racket. She wanted to punch them all. The people had sick ways of entertaining themselves…but then again, what could one expect in an era without televisions, radios, and computers?

She reached out to touch him, but he pulled away as if she'd scalded him. He tried to tell her to leave him alone, but the words didn't come out the way he intended. Instead, they all mingled together and made a piteous cry.

"Oh…" Dawn breathed. It was a sound of sympathy, one of an answering pain. She didn't want to see him so unhappy.

"You should come inside," she told him, "it's freezing out here."

"Go," he choked out.

"Come on," she urged.

He stared at her in shock. Though her face swam through the tears veiling his vision, he could see that she did not seem to think any differently of him.

"H-How? How can you even bear to look at me after what I've done?"

She tilted her head.

"Because I care about you?"

He blinked and the coating of tears cleared away. They glittered like precious jewels on his cheeks. Before Dawn even thought about it, she reached out to touch his face with both hands. Her thumbs wiped away some of the moisture.

"Come on," she urged, "you're not going to get anywhere if you stand out here and cry all night."

"You alone knew how much I cared for her and yet you wouldn't even allow me to see her one last time," he said angrily, "forgive me if that displeases you!"

Dawn looked at him as though he was the dumbest man on earth.

"We can do this one of two ways," she said firmly, "you can come with me or I can carry you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, yes, I dare."

She marched right up to him and wrapped both arms around him. She shifted him until he was bent uncomfortably around her shoulders. It was not by any means an effortless move: she was panting and he could feel her getting warm with effort. He struggled, but her hand swatted him. Dumbstruck, he gave up and held still. If he wasn't so concerned about her dropping him, he would have given her a tongue-lashing that would have made any other penance look like a dream come true.

"I have a…. surprise for you…" she panted, "but… since you're going…. to be a pain…you'll just have to wait…."

She put him down once they reached the steps of the cathedral. The stairs would be too much for her and she knew it. Her muscles had been screaming, but she ignored them. She'd had a point to prove and could care less if she'd be sore for a few days. She still held tightly to him, dragging him inside.

"Stop!" he hissed irritably, but she ignored him.

Quasimodo had been waiting.

"Master…please come!"

Claude ignored him and was getting ready to walk in the other direction when Joseph came forward.

"Your Excellency, Quasimodo has something to show you."

He and Dawn exchanged sour looks. When Claude missed that exchange entirely and continued to move forward, Joseph stepped in front of him.

"It's _important._"

Joseph wasn't doing it to help. In fact, he only told Claude because he was curious to see how Claude was going to get out of this screwed-up mess.

Claude sighed in resignation. The world wasn't going to leave him alone tonight. Dawn was waiting impatiently by the stairs. Claude grabbed a torch and lit it. He followed Dawn up the stairs, Quasimodo bringing up the rear.

"In here," Dawn said dismissively.

Claude stepped forward, letting the light from the torch fill the room. His mouth dropped open and he gasped in shock.

Esmeralda lay unconscious on the bed.

"I gave her sanctuary," Quasimodo explained, proud of himself for thinking up such an ingenious plan.

Claude was too busy trying to take a breath to speak. Emotions overwhelmed him. He placed the torch in the holder and moved closer.

Yes…the hand laying on her bodice moved up and down as she breathed. He watched the rise and fall and it comforted him more than anything else ever could. For the second time in his life, he had nearly committed murder and was granted yet another reprieve.

It was another miracle.

Dawn stayed quiet and watched. He wanted to touch Esmeralda so badly, but he dared not. His hands only disturbed the air around her, feeling her body heat. He dropped to his knees beside her bed and mouthed a silent prayer. He stayed there for a long time. Then, he took the folded blanket at the foot of the bed and covered her up in a heart-wrenchingly tender gesture.

_So sweet…ugh…major mush moment,_ Dawn thought dejectedly, _I give up._

She was about to go to bed and leave Claude to his own devices when he finally addressed her.

"You knew, didn't you?"

She nodded.

"I just couldn't tell."

"I want to know how it happened tomorrow."

Dawn would have told him, but a head-splitting yawn cut her off. She just nodded in agreement. He took the torch and retreated.

…

"Now do you believe me when I say I know what I'm doing?" Shadow asked.

"Bah! We'll see. We'll see, won't we? You think that just because you convinced them to behave and play your little game means that they'll cooperate in the future! I doubt it! Did you see that girl carry him off like that? She's a stubborn one!" the woman in the red hood said.

"That was impressive," the armored man admitted, "it takes a strong woman to handle Claude Frollo…I just didn't think it would be taken literally. But we still don't know exactly how we're going to make it work."

"We don't have to," Shadow said casually, "we don't have to know anything other than the next event. One step at a time, you know…the problem with these humans is that they measure everything with time and they want everything done _right now_. They have patterns to get to a certain point, but what about after that? Nothing…look at Fleur and Phoebus! They're a classic example of this. They both wanted a spouse that was well-off, good-looking, and envied by everyone. They got exactly what they wanted and now look at them! Phoebus has sewn his seed in a third of the female population here and a few of those seeds are growing, much to his chagrin. And Fleur…oh…poor Fleur. She knows about all those horrid affairs, but she mistakenly believes that he'll stop once they are married and live happily ever after."

"As much as I hate to admit it, you have a point. Our own Jesus lived in the present and he did more for this earth than anyone else could ever hope to," the armored man sighed.

"But Esmeralda's still in the equation," the hooded woman nagged, "how are you going to get her out without something awful happening?"

"The same way we got her in," Shadow responded, "right under Claude's nose. Oh…he'll be angrier than Lucifer cast out of Heaven, but it's for his own good. Surely he won't begrudge her the desire to help someone."

The three of them disappeared into the night. They had arrangements to make.

…

Claude was preparing to go upstairs the next morning when he heard some shouting. Before he could get all the way up, Shadow grabbed him and pulled him behind the door.

"What's going on?" he whispered to Shadow.

Shadow grinned.

"Just listen."

He tilted his head, trying to hear better.

"Why do you keep defending the archdeacon? You sound as though you're in love with him!" Esmeralda snapped.

"So what?"

"How can you love a murderer?"

"How can you love a man-whore?"

"Don't you talk about my Phoebus that way!"

"Then don't say anything about the archdeacon."

"Mine is handsome and heroic. Yours is going to be old in a few years and he cares for no one but himself!"

"Phhh….just keep kidding yourself. At least Claude's not out sleeping with every girl he can get his hands on."

"He probably doesn't know how."

"Don't talk about him like that. I'm sure he could if he wanted to."

Claude's cheeks flamed hotly. His ears burned as though they had been scalded.

"That's exactly the problem—he wants to, all right, and it's not even you he wants to do it with!"

Dawn was getting angry. He could see her reddened face in his mind's eye though he'd never seen her angry in real life.

"SO FREAKING WHAT? At least I'm not trailing after him all the time begging him to love me back like _some_ people!"

Claude's heart nearly stopped beating and his stomach twisted. He could feel Shadow laughing silently beside him.

"Oh, Phoebus! I'll love you forever! I'll be at your beck and call, Phoebus! I'll let you sleep with any woman you want as long as you say you love me!" Dawn said in silly high-pitched sing-song voice. She was making fun of Esmeralda.

There was a resounding smack and then a growl. Squishie pounced on Esmeralda, barking furiously. Dawn lunged forward. Claude flew out from behind the door just as Dawn's fist connected with Esmeralda's jaw. Quasimodo flew between the two of them and pushed them apart.

"ENOUGH!"

They froze at the sharpness of Claude's voice. Dawn was unable to look him in the face. She wondered how much he had heard just now. Squishie whined and retreated to the space under the bed, her tail tucked between her legs. Esmeralda clutched the spot where Dawn's fist had landed. She was still sitting on the floor. Quasimodo eased her to her feet.

"Dawn," Claude said as calmly as he could, "you have a visitor."

Giving Esmeralda a nasty look, she walked towards Shadow.

"Let's talk somewhere else," Shadow whispered.

They descended the stairs. Luckily, the red mark on Dawn's cheek was fading rapidly and almost couldn't be seen in the dim light.

"I messed up, didn't I?" Dawn asked dully.

"Afraid so…he saw you strike her. He's not going to take that very well."

"Yeah…I guess I can't blame him. People in love go blind really quick," Dawn sighed, "me included."

Her memories flicked back to her first love and she tried not to dwell there. That was in the past and no amount of lamenting and regretting could change it.

"Let me see your face," Shadow demanded. She turned her head.

"Ah…not too bad. Just a little red. That will fade. I'm afraid you got her a lot worse than she did you."

Dawn couldn't help but smile.

"I don't do sissy stuff. I learned a long time ago that if you're going to hit someone, don't slap. Slapping is for babies. So…how much trouble am I in?" she asked.

"That remains to be seen. Let's go to the dock. It's a nice day."

A/N: Yes, the little catfight was probably lame, but it does serve a purpose for the next chapter, I promise.


	13. Chapter 13

"You have to apologize," Shadow told Dawn, "as soon as you can."

"I don't want to. I'm not sorry I decked her," Dawn told him. She hurled a rock into the water. It sunk with a violent splash.

"Listen, Dawn….with the state of mind that Claude's in, he considers Esmeralda a part of him. When you struck her, you hurt him as well."

Dawn stared at Shadow.

"Good God, I thought_ I_ was overly lyrical about stuff."

"You are twenty-three years old and Esmeralda is only seventeen. You must remember what you were like that that age."

"Yeah…full of myself, thinking everything was going to work out just right because the world owed me something. I thought I was every guy's dream at seventeen. Boy was I full of crap! I'm still paying for all the nights I tried to fill the void with pasta and sugar instead of with a man."

"It was an age thing. You grew out of it."

"Sort of…"

Dawn glanced down at herself. Instead of the beloved hourglass figure, she jokingly referred to it as "an hour and a half glass." She had lost a couple of pounds from walking everywhere and not having constant access to food the way she once had, but the urge to dig her way to the bottom of a giant pan of macaroni and cheese still reared its ugly head now and then.

"Anyway…back to Esmeralda. We need to get her out soon—the riot's going to break out tonight," Shadow informed her.

"Oh, my God! I forgot about that!" Dawn smacked her forehead.

"You have a few hours of daylight left. You should spend that time working things out with Esmeralda and Claude. I will send Pierre Gringoirre to Claude later."

"Will the riot still happen?" Dawn asked.

"Well…that depends on Claude. If he is willing to release Esmeralda, then it won't happen. If not…well…I can't promise anything. The only reason you are allowed to wander about right now is because the guards think I work here."

"So…any ideas as to how we're getting her out?"

Shadow grinned.

"We're going to have to get very, very creative."

"So, Claude, Esmeralda, and Quasimodo won't die?"

"Not if we do this right. Now, let's go back inside. You have work to do."

"Shadow, if I'm here, where will you be?"

"I'll be anywhere I'm needed," he responded.

…

Claude had attempted to get Esmeralda to show him where Dawn had hit her, but she'd reacted angrily and snarled at him to go away. He insisted that he was only trying to help, but she refused to see reason.

He stared at the bed where she sat. That soft, chocolate-colored hair cascading down her shoulders, her creamy white skin…he felt his loins tighten painfully and nearly pounced on her right there. As he stood still, not daring to move, Squishie wandered into the room. She glanced from Claude to Esmeralda, then sat down in the floor between Claude and the bed. She didn't bark, growl, or make any noise, but it was as though she was trying to remind him of what Dawn had said.

Dawn emerged in the doorway. She wasn't sure what she expected to see, but she was relieved that Claude had been having second thoughts—she had forgotten about having left them up here alone.

Claude turned to look at her. Her dark eyes had that "we need to talk" look, so he left with her. Esmeralda's sigh of relief was more audible than he would have liked for it to have been.

"You okay? You're breathing a little hard," Dawn commented.

"I'm fine…Esmeralda seems to be the one who isn't," he reminded her.

"Yeah…I lost my cool. I had a guy like Phoebus once. There's two years' worth of stupidity wasted…anyway," Dawn mentally scolded herself to get back on subject, "her husband's going to come here later and ask you to let Esmeralda go."

She saw the wall go up in his mind.

"Before you say no, let me tell you what your options are. We can slip her out of here and let her go with Pierre as soon as he asks and everything's all peace and quiet. We can wait until nightfall when all the gypsies show up and risk a riot…or…I really don't think you're going to like the third option at all."

"What happens if I don't?" he asked her.

Dawn wondered if her mouth would stop working again. She took a deep breath in.

"If you don't…it's over for all of you. Esmeralda ends up hanged, Quasimodo ends up dead of a broken heart, and you….I can't bring myself to say it."

His expression was grave. He understood. If he didn't let Esmeralda go, he was going to die as well.

"What's going to happen to me?" he demanded, voice shaking.

Dawn wouldn't look him in the face.

"It's bad, Claude…different things happen in different adaptations of the story, but you don't survive any of them. I can't stand the thought of it…"

"I am to die, then? After all this?"

He started to walk off, but her hand snared the sleeve of his robe.

"You don't understand, Claude…if you were meant to die, why would I be standing here telling you that you can live?"

"She hates me," Claude mumbled, "if I let her go, I'll never see her again."

"Maybe, maybe not," Dawn told him, "but if you show her that you care what she wants, maybe she'll come back eventually. I can't say that she'll ever fall in love with you, but wouldn't you rather her feel something besides anger?"

His whole world seemed to be shattering. His Esmeralda was going to leave…he could either try to keep her here and lose his life in the process or let her go and feel eternally dead on the inside. His own life failed to matter to him. But when Quasimodo's life and Esmeralda's life hung in the balance, he could only see one logical choice.

"I need some time alone," he said wearily.

Dawn nodded, watching him go. His shoulders sagged as if the weight of the world were pressing down on him. Tears welled up in her own eyes, but she blinked them back.

"Okay…I'm sure that was the hardest part…maybe if I'm lucky," she sighed to herself before turning back upstairs.

Esmeralda was still sitting in the same position on the bed. She glanced up when Dawn came in, but her head dropped back down. She was still mad, Dawn could see. Part of Dawn still wanted to beat some sense into her, but she knew better.

"What do you want?" she asked bitterly.

"I'm sorry about decking you earlier. It's just that I've had a guy like Phoebus before and I hate when other girls get themselves into that mess," Dawn said in a rush. She wasn't good at apologies because they required her to shelve her pride.

Silence.

"Look…if it's any consolation, you'll be out of here soon."

"I know. They're going to hang me."

"Not exactly."

Now, she looked up.

"Your buddy Pierre is coming here later…I tried talking Claude into letting you go."

"Did it work?" she asked hopefully.

"I don't know yet, but we'll get you out one way or another. He'll be royally ticked off at me, but he'll thank me later."

The wall of suspicion still hung in the air around Esmeralda, but there was a flicker of hope behind it. Dawn decided to leave it at that and hoped that Shadow had held his end of the deal up.

…

Pierre ascended the stairs to Notre Dame. Despite Joseph's protests, Pierre burst through the doors of Claude's offices. Once again, he realized, Dawn had been right.

"I tried to stop him, Your Excellency, but-"

"Leave him be," Claude replied calmly. Joseph scowled and stomped off. Pierre watched him walk away and wondered if Joseph was just a kiss-up or if there was something else going on in his over-controlling mind.

"Somebody petitioned Parliament to remove sanctuary! We've got to get Esmeralda out _tonight!_"

Claude whipped around, surprise rendering him unable to keep the cold exterior of the archdeacon.

"WHAT?" he exploded.

"Someone outside told me," Pierre said, still breathing raggedly from having sprinted all the way to Notre Dame, "they said it was already signed! You didn't know?"

Claude's depression rapidly gave way to fury.

"Of course I didn't know! Why would I do a thing like that?"

Pierre nodded.

"You care for her. I know you do. You will help us, won't you?"

The silence, ironically, was deafening. Here it was…Claude had to make a decision.

"No one is allowed to leave the cathedral without being seen entering first," he lamented.

"Exactly! Esmeralda could put on my trousers and my doublet! She could bind her hair in a hat!"

"You are a man of some imagination, Monsieur Gringoirre. Do you know what would happen to you under such circumstances?"

"Yes," Pierre said, "I'll be hanged, but she'll be safe!"

Claude glanced around the room. The door was completely shut. Dropping his voice low to a whisper, he leaned in close to Pierre. Pierre listened with a keen ear, nodding his approval and looking all the more hopeful.

"And you'll be back at dark?"

"Yes, Your Excellency. I can't thank you enough!"

With that, he exited the office. With grim resignation, Claude ascended to the bell tower.

Esmeralda was talking to Quasimodo near the outside, so they didn't hear Claude come in. Squishie saw Claude coming, however, and dashed over to him, tail wagging. He rewarded her with a pat, then she jumped up on Dawn's bed and "sneezed".

"What?" Dawn asked.

The dog trotted back over to Claude. Dawn put her sketchbook down and scrubbed her hands on a grimy rag. She had been using her fingers to blend the shadows.

"Well?"

Claude wordlessly led her down the stairs so that Esmeralda wasn't in danger of hearing. He wanted Dawn to hear first.

"We're letting her out tonight," he told her, "I need your help with something."

…

With Dawn's help, Esmeralda's hair was bound in a tight braid and coiled up underneath an old hat of Pierre's. Dawn promised to bring the dress by later on when the coast was clear. Quasimodo had been warned that some of Esmeralda's friends might be coming so that he wouldn't harm them by mistake. Shadow had brought men's clothing and it was baggy enough to hide Esmeralda's womanly figure. Claude kept watch at the front doors of the cathedral.

The sun had set. Everything was in place. The idea was to send Esmeralda out peacefully and to take advantage of the organized chaos as much as possible. If no one knew how she escaped or where she'd gone, it would be impossible to imprison her. Claude would pull rank if she was ever arrested again. Hopefully, she would just lie low until Paris had forgotten her. Without a reliable source of income, Dawn felt that she had no choice but to go with Esmeralda since Esmeralda couldn't be seen performing in public for a while. She didn't tell Claude about that part. Instead, she asked Shadow to help her write him a letter in French. She told Shadow what she wanted to say and he wrote it out. She explained that she would be back to visit him eventually and she was grateful for him sheltering her. They gave it to Quasimodo who promised to give it to Claude. He shoved it in his pocket for safe keeping.

Dawn plugged her guitar in. She turned the volume knob up until it was nearly full-blast. The gypsies were all in the shadows, waiting.

Dawn struck a chord. The agonizingly loud bass note rumbled through the city and caused some of the smaller bells to vibrate. She plucked another note, then another.

Claude was downstairs listening. The other priests were confused and demanded to know what was going on.

The crowd of gypsies began to surge towards Notre Dame. Dawn's notes became chaotic and erratic. She played some bizarre licks that scared the Hell out of most of the people who didn't know what was going on. After the gypsies got close enough, she switched off the amp, shoved the guitar in her case, and told Quasimodo it was time. He nodded and began to create a cacophonous symphony with the bells. By now, the nervous priests downstairs felt half-deaf and were scattering in all directions. Dawn and Esmeralda came down the stairs.

A surge of gypsies flooded in through the doors. The priests tried to chase them out, but the gypsies weren't having it. They snatched a few things that they judged to be of value. Dawn suspected that they'd been plotting that for a while. She cast an "I'm sorry" look to Claude and whistled shrilly. They all poured out of the cathedral like a human tide. Dawn was swept along with them.

Then, everything was as quiet as it had started out being.

She was gone.

Both of them were gone.

The doors slammed closed and were locked. The panicked staff was unhurt, but a few of them had been robbed. The guards were called, but there was nothing else they could do. The culprits had all escaped and were probably halfway to another country by now.

_She didn't even tell me goodbye…_Claude thought darkly. He wondered if he was referring to Esmeralda or Dawn.

Joseph was about to say something when Quasimodo came lumbering down the stairs. A piece of paper slid out of his pocket as he passed Joseph. Joseph snatched the paper up and unfolded it.

He skimmed through it and rage darkened his soul. That little witch….as quickly as he could, he strode over to the nearest fireplace and tossed the letter in.

"Dawn…she wrote you a letter…I have it here somewhere," Quasimodo said, reaching into his pockets. Confused, he looked around.

"I'm sorry, Master…I must have dropped it."

"Just give it to me if you find it," Claude told him. He walked past the fireplace where the letter had just crumbled into ash.


	14. Chapter 14

Quasimodo knew something was wrong when he saw his master's face. Claude had come upstairs to give him his lessons, but the archdeacon was terribly short-tempered. After he'd blown up at Quasimodo for the third time in a row, he pinched the bridge of his nose as if he'd gotten a headache. Quasimodo knew that it was a sign of frustration. He could read his master better than anyone else…maybe almost as good as God Himself, he reasoned.

Quasimodo skittered around the corner to give his master a chance to calm down. He knew it was dangerous to stay within arm's length of Claude when he was this upset. The priest had always had a very volatile temper when it came to Quasimodo, but Quasimodo had noticed something….

_He was far worse after Dawn and Esmeralda had left. _

_ He hadn't been this bad when Esmeralda was gone._

_ In fact, after Dawn had intervened once on his behalf, Claude had merely nodded in agreement and did not punish Quasimodo. _

Quasimodo tended to see the world in black and white. He did not burden his thoughts with over-complicated things. If something was right, then you did it or liked it. If something was wrong, you avoided it and disliked it. Sometimes the matter of right and wrong got a little confusing, but he doubted that something could be that hard to figure out.

The solution that clicked into place was that Claude missed Dawn. Not only did he miss her, but he missed her terribly. His cheeks were white all over instead of pink (unless he got angry—then they just turned red). His robes hung loosely on his frame, which indicated a lack of appetite or some sort of illness to Quasimodo. His master was either yelling at him or avoiding him completely, which meant that his mind was burdened with something that was driving him nuts. He realized that impatience and anger sometimes came together and more impatience could lead to more anger.

He poked his head around the pillar. Claude was sitting in his chair with his arms crossed. His eyes were closed. Quasimodo wondered if his headache was gone. He didn't think that Claude would strike him now.

"I wish I could find the letter," Quasimodo told him cautiously, "I looked everywhere for it."

Claude didn't answer.

"It must have been important…I would have asked Dawn to write another one if I could find her."

Claude's blue-green eyes opened again. The blazing fire was no longer there.

"I stay up here as much as I can to watch for her," Quasimodo told him, "because I know you miss her. I am sure she misses you, too."

He no longer saw the anger in Claude's face. The anger had given way to sadness. Much to Claude's chagrin, Quasimodo had read his master's mind.

"Have you seen her?"

If Quasimodo had not been nearly deaf, he would have heard the deadness in Claude's voice. But since he could only read lips, he missed it.

"No…but I am sure she'll come back. She said she would."

Claude scolded himself on the inside for his own stupidity. Of course Dawn had spoken to Quasimodo…he had probably been the last one to speak to her.

"What else did she say?"

"She said that the people coming were our friends and not to hurt them."

"After that?"

"After that, she said that you could find her singing in the streets because Esmeralda cannot be seen dancing. She said that she would need the coins."

Claude's heart warmed unexpectedly. He had not been expecting that.

"Thank you…and I'm sorry I shouted at you earlier."

Claude left. Quasimodo watched him go with spirits lifted. He knew that Claude was going to attempt to find Dawn and he prayed that his master succeeded. He climbed into the rafters and began to swing on the bells, a favorite pastime of his.

"I am sorry I neglected you," Claude told the bell, "I played with Squishie much longer than I meant to. I did not forget you, though, or the others…"

He could feel the vibrations of the bell's clanging through his feet and hands. He could also vaguely hear it as well…a sign that all was forgiven. They would not begrudge him a new friend or two as long as he didn't forget them.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Quasimodo suddenly had an idea. What if Dawn could hear the bells? Would she hear him calling to her and know that he was asking her to come back? It seemed like a very good idea. He swung from bell to bell in an attempt to call his master's friend back.

"I think he loves her, Marie! But has he told her that? I don't think so either, or she wouldn't have gone away!"

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

…

Esmeralda and Dawn were not friends. Even strangers could see that, but the two managed to somehow be in the same room without fighting. Pierre and Dawn were earning Esmeralda's coins for her, which angered her to no end. If it hadn't been for that blasted archdeacon…

No, she would not think of him. He made her angry every time he appeared in her thoughts. She wanted to be happy again. It was proving to be difficult, however. Her ego was punctured.

It had started with Phoebus getting married to Fleur de-Lys. The two of them had gallivanted all around town before having a very noisy wedding night that the town was still jeering at. Esmeralda's heart had been smashed into little pieces. Shortly afterward, they had passed each other on the street and she had said something to him. He merely ignored her. Shortly afterward, she darted in front of his horse, almost getting ran over. He'd pushed her out of the way and she'd landed in the mud. Humiliated and even angrier that Dawn had told her the truth, she ran back to her underground room where she could cry in peace. It didn't help that Pierre was acting as though he pitied her.

Dawn, however, had not mentioned the incident even though she saw it. She never said a word about it. She never pretended to like Esmeralda, but she was never rude to her, either. Esmeralda grudgingly acknowledged this uneasy truce by not badmouthing the archdeacon whenever there was a possibility that Dawn could hear her.

Dawn was proud of herself. Normally, she had a tendency to rub things in as a form of vengeance, but she had not done so. When Phoebus had thrown a particularly large handful of coins into the guitar case, she had given all of that to Esmeralda and didn't lie about where it came from. She didn't need much…Shadow provided for her when things ran a little short.

She was seeing less and less of the mysterious man and wondered where on earth he went when he wasn't around here.

"I need you to help me," Dawn said to Pierre one evening, "I started writing a song at the cathedral, but I haven't finished it. My amulet won't let me write in French."

Pierre had been thoroughly confused, so she'd had to remove the amulet to show him what she meant. After a few minutes of discussion as to how they would handle it, he took the amulet and put it around his own neck. They discussed the phrases she had written down and how to smooth them out. She wrote the English version on one side of the parchment and he wrote the French version in the other. As all translations are, it wasn't completely perfect and some phrases transferred more easily and more accurately than others.

"Esmeralda tells me that you are in love with the archdeacon. Is it true?"

Dawn shrugged.

"I have no idea what you mean by that."

"Yes, you do," he probed.

"I don't," Dawn said, idly strumming a melody on her guitar, "I thought I knew what it was to be in love once, but I really don't. I know that you can love someone without _being_ in love."

Pierre raised an eyebrow. And Esmeralda thought _he _analyzed things too much…

"Loving someone is simple. You want to be around them, you want to help them, you want them to be happy, and they make you happy without even trying. There's a nice little give and take there. Sometimes you can love someone even if they don't love you back, which has happened to me a lot. I wasn't miserable any of those times that I can remember. Being _in love,_ though, was not a pleasant experience. From what I see, being in love with someone means that you suffer insanity. You let them walk all over you, you're willing to let them just take whatever the Hell they want because the feelings get so intense. Then, sometimes, in an effort to correct the balance, you go overboard and you end up smashing their hearts to smithereens, too. You can't let go. You can't move on. You're stuck there and it turns into a psychotic obsession because you dream about them in your sleep and you're not even safe from it there."

That was a lot to digest. Apparently, she had felt that way for quite some time to have thought up such a vivid description.

"Good God…you make it sound like going to war or going mad," Pierre commented.

"That's what it felt like to me," Dawn said with a shrug, "I don't know any different. My first real…I guess you could say 'courtship'…was the first and the last and I never want to go through it again."

"Well…"

He had no words of comfort to offer, but she didn't want pity. Pity was something that Dawn didn't handle well, either.

"Thanks for helping me write this," Dawn told him, "it's so aggravating not to actually know the language."

"I find this quite interesting," Pierre commented, "you can speak it with the amulet on and your accent's very strong, but I can understand you. Without, you neither understand it when it's spoken or comprehend it when it's written. And I am just the same way with your language. How does this pendant work?"

"I don't know," Dawn confessed, "I've been trying to figure that out from day one. The interesting thing is that my dog even seems to understand me better with this on. I couldn't get her to pay attention for five seconds back at home some days."

Unknown to Pierre, this information was going to be very useful later on.

"Will you help me write one for Esmeralda now? I don't know music the way you do."

"Sure. It's the least I could do. At least we'll have something to sing about tomorrow."

…

Unknown to Claude, Dawn and Pierre were a few paltry paces away from where his horse's hooves had just clopped onto the pavement. If he'd passed the gateway where the Court of Miracles lay, he'd have heard her voice. The guitar was silent for a while as Dawn and Pierre edited lyrics. That was unfortunate as well.

Claude traveled almost all over the city. It was bitterly cold tonight as well, and the chill was damp. A white mist had risen up all around Paris and left a fog so thick that lights appeared as flickering orbs rather than candle flames. He cursed himself internally for not coming out here during daylight hours…he'd never find her at night.

It wasn't just about Dawn, he argued to himself, it was for his own sanity as well. Joseph had not stopped interrogating him since the night of the revolt. Leave it to him to be the only one who suspected that the raid was staged…he wished he had the power to send Joseph away to another cathedral or anyplace else that might get him out of the way. The man was insufferable. He had gotten just about enough of Joseph's know-it-all attitude. Joseph seemed to think that if he was Claude's best friend, he could have anything he wanted. It was a shame that Claude was simply too polite to tell him that he was wasting his time.

Claude inhaled the cool night air and sighed contentedly. Why didn't he do this all the time? No one would question him. None besides Joseph, anyway. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind and he shook his head and sighed.

Dawn had started him on this habit of taking walks after dark. At first, they had done it to avoid the soldiers and guards. Then, it had evolved into a method of having serious talks when they didn't want to be overheard. Despite the fact that Dawn had been gone for almost a week, he had continued the habit. It was unwise…everyone knew you could catch a chill doing this, especially on a damp night like tonight. The small rebellious part of him that he had never been able to rid himself completely of could care less.

_I should forget about both of them. Women are emotional, complicated beings…I don't need complication in my life right now. It would put my commitments into jeopardy if I don't put an end to this…_

The river was up ahead. Claude listened to the melody that it sang. Then, he shook his head. He was doing it AGAIN! He was thinking of things Dawn would say if she were here.

He wished she was.

Ghostly images of the two women danced in his mind. One of them was lithe, graceful, and more beautiful than anything else in the whole world. One of them was short, plump, and had a temper hot enough to compete with the flames of Hell. Despite his reluctance to stay on this chain of thoughts, the chain rapidly became a snarl and tangle that he seemed to only get further trapped in.

Esmeralda was the living essence of beauty, but she was cold. Her kindness to Quasimodo was admirable, but one act did not necessarily dictate the person's character. Dawn was neither ugly nor beautiful, she was just plain. Her messy blonde curls shimmered like gold when the sunlight hit them and her dark eyes were more expressive than anyone's he'd ever seen. It was said that sometimes one wore their heart on their sleeve, but Claude begged to differ. Dawn wore her heart in her eyes. She could not deceive him. She could not deceive anyone if she tried. She usually had other ways of getting what she wanted even if it involved sheer stubbornness. It was an annoying trait, that hard head of hers. The girl could head-butt a cliff and make it crumble to stone. That mental image made him smile.

There was also the fact that she was funny…Dawn would burst into hysterical laughter at almost anything. Sometimes he failed to see the humor and she would tell him that it was nothing more than the face he was making. She also had a very sharp, sarcastic tongue. It was unbecoming for a woman to be that way, but it made her stand out from the rest. Up until now, Claude had found the company of women to be the utmost bore. He had forgotten what his own laughter sounded like until he'd met Dawn.

"Oh, no…"

The words were whispered. His voice sounded small, thin, cold, and fearful. It was a good thing he was alone on the streets so that no one could see what he did. Instinctively, a product of all his training, Claude dropped to his knees and began to pray for forgiveness, for the most sinful thought yet had crossed his mind.

He had been imagining what it would be like to spend the rest of his life with them (only one of them, of course). With Esmeralda, he would feel passionate and full of heat every single day. With Dawn, he would feel accepted for who he was and he would never feel lonely or bored again.

Shaking and feeling abandoned by God once again, Claude forced himself to get back in the saddle. This would never do…he was not supposed to be with _either one of them_ and it would do him much more harm than good if he didn't stop allowing them to invade his thoughts.

_It's for the best that she left,_ he thought with a sigh, _we couldn't have gone on like that…temptation would have been right there at all times, snapping at our heels. I'll not let my sinful, sick, twisted nature destroy another life. I will not!_

Claude returned to the cathedral alone. This was hardly a surprise to him—he had been expecting it. What he didn't expect was the awful sense of loss that accompanied it. He resolved that he would get a firm grip back on his life and he would not let it slide again. Notre Dame needed him. Paris needed him. God had not given him this job lightly and Claude would not disappoint Him again.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Some things are about to get pretty wild in this chapter, so please bear with me. I hope I don't offend too many people with the monkey wrench I'm about to fling into the works—I promise it won't be too mentally scarring. I got this idea late last night. It's my own take on why Joseph (a.k.a. brunette priest that is kind of a jerk) is the way he is.

On Dawn's end of the world, things seemed to be going quite well. The baby's life she had saved was baptized and named after her—the child's name was "Aurora" to keep down the confusion. Pierre had been the one to suggest it. Dawn was very flattered and shocked to discover that she had been named the child's godmother. Marguerite and Andre (Aurora's parents) often brought the infant by for a visit and would sometimes linger on the street to watch Dawn perform. As promised, no soldiers arrested Dawn though they very much would have liked to at times. Most of them were secretly glad that she had been given some immunity because it entertained them when there was a lull in guard duty. Shadow had not been around for quite some time, but Dawn suspected he would be back—he had promised, after all.

She couldn't deny that she missed Claude very much, but every time she wanted to go back to the cathedral, it seemed that something came up and she didn't make it. Twice, she had written letters and asked them to be taken to him, but she never got a response.

_Ah, well…I knew it wouldn't work,_ she told herself, _but at least they're all still alive._

The word had somehow slipped out that Dawn had a crush on Claude and she was the butt of a great deal of teasing. The gypsies felt sorry for her, but there was nothing they could do and she didn't want them to do anything anyway. At first, she had suspected that she would be taken home after the story had played out, but now she was coming to accept that she might never get home.

"Well, Squishie, this is home now," she sighed to the dog one night, "I can't complain…I've got it good here even if things are a little inconvenient. But I wished things were different. I'm beginning to think that Claude's mad at me or something. I figured he would at least tell me if he didn't want me to come back."

She scratched behind Squishie's ears. Squishie looked up at her. Just as Dawn's dark eyes made contact with the dog's big sad eyes, an image popped into her head. It was blurry and dim, but she supposed it was because she was seeing it from an animal's point of view.

_She was embracing Claude on the night he thought Esmeralda was doomed to die. As the tears ran their course, Dawn had comforted him as best as she could. When Squishie had been sitting beside them, she noticed that the amulet was glowing softly. The crucifix itself was white, but the bubbling fluid around it was a soft sky blue._

"You miss him, too, don't you?" Dawn asked. Another image appeared. This time, it was when Claude had first actually petted her. Dawn closed her eyes and let the image take over more of her mind. Banishing her thoughts, she allowed herself to submerge completely.

Squishie had always been a very good judge of character and now Dawn understood why. You could always tell a lot about a person (or at least Squishie thought so) by the way they reacted to you. He had never treated Squishie as though she were a nuisance—and the little dog could certainly make one of herself if she wanted! His touch was quiet, calm, and steady. He had only touched her briefly at first until he was sure she wouldn't chomp his hand off. He had never tried to pick her up, move her over, or otherwise handle her in ways that only Dawn was allowed to. He had not pushed her away even she'd tried to test his limits. He had not assumed that she would obey him and thus had never ordered her around. By respecting Dawn, he had also respected Squishie.

"You know what? I never thought about it that way," Dawn said.

"Whuff," Squishie replied.

"Yeah, I know. I should have. I should have seen something was up when you hated James."

"Whuff," Squishie agreed.

"Ah, well. The excitement seems to have died off…it's been a little over a month now. I don't know why he's not answering my letters. I guess I'll have to go see him in person."

"Whuff."

Squishie wagged her tail. Dawn kissed her on top of the head.

"Let's go see if there's any food left. My belly's making more noise than my guitar."

…

The sound of shredding paper was unmistakable. Joseph had tossed the latest letter into the fire after taking out his frustration on it. Was that blasted girl NEVER going to give up?

It hadn't been easy, but he was determined to get her out of Claude's life just as he had been with Esmeralda. At least, he consoled himself, they were both gone for the moment. Women were trouble, he told himself. They were disgusting creatures who acted on their emotions and needed to be subdued. He still blamed Eve for that. There was a reason why men were in charge. Dawn had been planting dangerous ideas into Claude's head and it was up to him to set the matter straight. The others would rapidly follow suit if this were allowed to continue—they all actually said they missed Dawn's obnoxious music.

Since Dawn and Esmeralda had come along, life had been nothing but chaos. He had known Claude for many years since joining the priesthood and he had never known his mentor to become so unglued. The life of a monk and priest was a very difficult one and some seasons were more difficult than others. Always before, Claude had been the cool, calm, collected one and he had always appeared unaffected even when the world seemed to be falling apart. Joseph wished he could be like that—he knew he was hot-tempered, impatient, and impulsive at times. They were traits that he had struggled with his entire life. After seeing Claude as of late, he knew he had no choice but to be the strong one.

It grieved him so much to see his mentor in this state. The shadows under Claude's eyes did not go unnoticed, and neither did the paleness of his cheeks. Joseph had seen him unclothed recently while he had been bathing and Claude had lost weight as well. Joseph longed to go to him, to comfort him and hold him the way he had seen Dawn do. He had no words as of yet that would make Claude feel better. He could only pray for Claude and hope that these wounds would heal with time. Claude had scolded Joseph a lot lately and it was very hard to bear. Just once, he lamented, he wished that Claude had something good to say to him.

Well, he would sooner or later…maybe somewhere down the road, he would tell Claude what he had done with the letters. Maybe Claude would even thank him for helping him to forget the stupid girl and her dog.

Joseph's thoughts brightened a little. Yes…things would be the way they were supposed to once again. Claude would begin to be the strong leader he had once been and Joseph would be right there at his side again. Claude would praise him for his hard work and Joseph would be the happiest man in the world. He knelt and began to pray that God would take Dawn's memory from Claude so that everything could be as it should be. Claude's blue-green eyes would no longer be dark with discontent, but as bright as the sky at sunrise.

He could have sworn his heart skipped a beat at that thought. How odd…he brushed his hand over his cheek to discover that it was flaming hot. He hoped he wasn't taking ill…his thoughts had been racing in the last half-hour. Maybe he should go to the infirmary and make sure he wasn't coming down with something. Now was not the time for sickness.

Joseph descended the stairs from his cell. He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the fluttering of someone else's robes.

It was Claude. Immediately, Claude frowned.

"Joseph…are you well? You look rather flushed."

"I was just preparing to go talk to the physician," Joseph admitted, "I haven't been feeling like myself at all this evening."

His eyes slid closed for a brief moment as Claude's cool fingertips grazed his cheek. His own skin seemed to only grow hotter to the touch.

"I think you might have a fever," Claude commented, "you should be resting. Winter's not over…it would be dangerous to be out where you could get chilled further."

Joseph could only nod. His mouth suddenly felt dry and it seemed that his tongue was glued to the bottom. His throat had grown parched as well.

"We will see how you feel in the morning. If you still don't feel well, I want you to take the day off."

Joseph nodded again. When he spoke again, his voice crackled like a flame.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he objected, "there's so much work to be done…"

"I can manage."

"But-"

"Go on," Claude urged, steering him towards the hallway where the hospital area was, "I won't have you making yourself worse."

Joseph sighed in resignation. He watched Claude walk away. He didn't doubt that he'd be back later. The truth was that he didn't want to spend all day in bed when he had a job to do. No one was aware of his internal vows to protect Claude with his life. If he was in bed all day, he couldn't ensure that the flabby little witch wouldn't sneak in here and mess everything up.

…

As always, the three were having a meeting. This time, they were in a small storage cellar just down the hall from where Joseph was visiting the doctor.

"You don't suppose…" the hooded woman commented, having just seen the interaction between Joseph and Claude.

"Oh, yes…I do," the armored man commented, "I've seen this plenty of times before."

"That's…not good," the woman lamented, "there are all kinds of things that could go wrong if this continues."

"And they more than likely will," Shadow sighed, "I must admit, _I_ didn't even see that one coming. I had suspicions, but I wanted to be wrong."

"What now? He's got a raging case of jealousy against Dawn and Esmeralda, but especially Dawn. If it gets any more intense, he'll stop at nothing to get Dawn out of the way," the woman commented, "how did this even happen?"

"No one knows except God Himself," the armored man said calmly, "any number of things could have contributed to it. It might have been simply brotherly affection that got distorted. It might have been a moment of confusion that he never got over. There are a million and one reasons. I only hope that this is temporary…God Himself knows that there's enough trouble in one lifetime to deal with without that type of complication. It might go away, it might not."

"When did it start?"

"I would say when they met before they came here," the armored man answered, "Joseph was still a boy. He was accosted in the street and left injured and bleeding. Claude found him and patched him up. Though Joseph's way with people leaves a bit to be desired, his loyalty to Claude is unwavering. It hasn't been until recently that it's become problematic—I don't believe feelings and thoughts themselves to be dangerous…it's what the humans choose to do with them that makes them problematic."

"Dawn has obeyed me without question," Shadow told them, "and trusted me. She's trusted God…in fact, I think she suspects me now. I feel her thoughts moving around, trying to sort out who and what I am. Only someone with a faith that strong would be able to guess at all, to connect the dots and form a pattern."

"Yes…we chose well when we passed the amulet to her and allowed her to tap out its powers. Only someone very responsible could be trusted with this kind of power. You chose well."

"We've got to get them back together…her and Claude. And we have to figure out what to do about Joseph. I doubt he's going to take this situation lying down," Shadow said.

"Joseph will get in the way."

"No. He will merely be a stepping stone," Shadow argued, "we need to expose him and it's going to take something big, unfortunately."

"What exactly are you suggesting? We've interfered enough as it is!"

"We're not going to interfere—that's the beauty of it. We only need to let things run their course and maybe draw some attention to them."

"Come on…he'll be out in a moment. We don't want him overhearing us."

The three figures split up and wandered in different directions. They were gone by the time Joseph left the doctor.


	16. Chapter 16

Claude paced in his cell. The quill pen was resting in the inkwell and the untouched parchment lay on the desk. Try as he might, he couldn't even begin to decide what to write. Thus far, everything he had come up with had sounded ridiculous. The problem was that he wasn't sure how to say it.

The staff had been given orders to turn Dawn away if she came looking for him. Claude was still unaware of the letters that Joseph had been burning. Quasimodo had asked why Dawn left every time she came here without talking to Claude. Claude had promptly gotten defensive and told Quasimodo that he didn't want to hear another word about Dawn.

He needed to tell her. She was confused about this and rightfully so. She had asked the priests if she'd done something wrong, but they didn't know. She had even asked one of them to ask Claude what she'd done just so that she'd know. She had also added that she was sure she could make amends for anything she'd messed up on.

_That's the problem,_ he thought with a sigh, _she's done everything right…I have nothing to fault her on. The fault is completely mine. I didn't use enough discretion when I interacted with her. I got too close to her and now we're both paying for it._

"Mea Culpa Maxima…" he said out loud with a sigh: _My most grievous fault…_

Maybe he should tell her that. At least then she wouldn't keep being saddled with a burden that wasn't hers to bear. She'd been handling his emotional baggage for far too long as it was. Breathing in deep, he sat down at his desk and began to write.

It took several drafts and over an hour to finish the letter. He had managed to condense his lengthy explanation down to its most important points. There was no point in trying to gloss it over…he knew that she wouldn't appreciate that at all. He deeply regretted that it had come to this.

He wondered why, as he sealed it, that it felt like a death sentence. As he was pondering how to get the letter to her and which person to send it with, the door creaked open. He frowned, puzzled.

It was Dawn's friend, Shadow.

"Hello, sir," he said respectfully, "I know you're busy, but I only require a moment of your time."

"Very well."

Shadow sat down in the chair in front of Claude's desk.

"I'm here on Dawn's behalf," Shadow told him, "she believes that she's done something to upset you. She's beside herself with worry and guilt. Would you mind setting the matter straight?"

"I was going to," Claude admitted, "but the reasons are very complex."

He studied Shadow carefully and realized that he was wearing a gypsy's outfit instead of a monk's outfit.

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping a line here, but just who are you really? I know that you are a friend of Dawn's, but what is your profession? You don't behave much like a priest and I am certain that 'Shadow' cannot possibly be your real name."

Shadow merely smiled.

"You're right," he said easily, "it is a nickname that Dawn has given me. As for my profession, you might say I am a man of many trades. But first and foremost, I am a messenger…and an escort when I am needed for that."

Claude looked at him, confused. He had seen Dawn and Shadow together so often that he had suspected them as being lovers at first. After he had gotten to know Dawn better, it appeared not to be the case. Their relationship seemed purely platonic.

"A long time before Dawn was even conceived, her parents had asked a very big favor of my father," Shadow said, "they pleaded with him to always watch out for her, to keep her safe. I cannot shield her from the heartaches that life brings, but I could watch over her and make sure that she didn't get herself into situations that would destroy her. I take my duty very seriously, for it's more than a job. It's a way of life for me. Dawn is like a younger sister to me. I know her better than she knows herself. I was the one, under direction from my father, to bring her here in the first place…to bring her to you."

Claude's expression was one of deep thought.

"But why?"

"He knew you as well, Claude Frollo, and he watched out for you as well. He said that you were a good man and did not deserve to die the horrible death that you would otherwise experience. He knew that he needed to send someone stronger, someone who was looking for more than just hero worship. He also knew that no situation was impossible at the end and that everything would work out."

A puff of annoyance was evident in the air that was expelled from Claude's lungs.

"I respect your vow to keep watch over Dawn's well-being, but your father made a mistake," Claude told him, "he did not take into account the way of life that I practice…surely he must know that I cannot marry?"

"That didn't stop you from going after Esmeralda, did it?"

Claude's face flushed in shame.

"That was different," he said quickly, "I was wrong to let that get so far out of hand…I wasn't thinking at all. I almost broke my promises to God once—I cannot do it again. Besides, even if that weren't reason enough, I don't love Dawn."

Shadow leaned in as if telling Claude a secret.

"Have you ever given yourself a chance to love her?"

"No…but I can't."

"Can't and won't are two different things, Claude. Don't confuse them."

"You speak as if you know everything," Claude snapped irritably.

Shadow smiled.

"I don't claim to know everything, Your Excellency," he said warmly, "but I do know an unhappy man when I see one. Real love is not seeing someone with a pretty face and wanting to hide it away so that only you can see it. Real love comes over time, accepting the other for who they truly are and trusting that they'll do the same. Real love is not a war within one's self, but a surrender and a promise. Love is being able to argue and disagree and still listen."

"You sound as though you've been in love," Claude said darkly.

"In a sense, I have been," Shadow replied, "and I think it's a great crime when we all assume we know best and waste it for lack of faith."

Claude was growing tired of Shadow's assumptions.

"Be that as it may, I have better things to worry about," he snapped, "I hate that I must ask Dawn to stay away, but there isn't any other way. I have enough things to keep track of without her invading my thoughts. I do not want her to waste her time on something that can't and won't happen. Surely there's another man who can marry and will care for her?"

"Afraid not," Shadow answered, "she has her heart set on you. She is bitter and cynical towards the idea of marriage right now, of courtship, even. If she knew I'd come here tonight without her, she'd be furious."

That sent Claude's mind to a crashing halt.

"If Dawn simply wanted a husband, there'd be plenty of men she could choose from, but she's turned all of them down flat. She smacks their hands away when they try to touch her. Phoebus made the mistake of squeezing her bottom yesterday and she punched him. He didn't tell anyone, naturally, because he'd be mortified if anyone found out that a _woman_ blacked his eye!"

Shadow chuckled.

"She asserts that she could care less if you love her or not," Shadow said, "though I think she's lying for your sake…but she's angry with herself for not telling you. She's restless because she wonders if telling you would have been the right thing to do."

"She doesn't know that I overheard her?"

"No. It would be best if she could tell you herself. She needs to tell you that herself. The only reason she refrained from it was because she didn't want to complicate things further."

Claude's eyes had closed and he was trying to ward off the headache that threatened to come to him.

"Well…so much for that noble intention," he mumbled bitterly.

"It seems to me that the only one complicating this matter is yourself."

"I know that!"

The flare of anger was unexpected. Shadow was only smiling more, which made Claude angrier.

"Monsieur Shadow, I have nothing further to say to you except that I want you to keep out of my personal matters and stop ordering me around. I understand that your intentions are noble, but you speak of a situation that is simply impossible. Your father sounds like a very good man, but a dreamer nonetheless, and a man of incredible imagination and seemingly out of touch with reality. If you truly care about Dawn's welfare as much as you say you do, then stop putting such ideas into her head."

Shadow took the letter out of his hands. Before Claude had a chance to react, Shadow looked down at the letter and shook his head, his smile fading quickly.

"What is life without a dream, Your Worship? You profess to believe in God, and yet some could argue that the things that He has done are simply impossible. You'll believe in miracles, but you won't have faith that things will work out? You pick and choose and apply rules to miraculous events but you have no faith where it really matters. If that's the way you really approach life, then you don't deserve her."

He tucked the letter into his waistband and closed the door quietly.

Claude wondered if it was possible to feel any more isolated than he felt now.

…

"You're not really going to show her the letter, are you?" the hooded woman asked.

"I am," Shadow replied, "only to prove a point to the archdeacon. Just be warned, my friends, it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. Neither of them will want to move if they are content with the way things are. We have to make them both so discontent that they will move towards each other."

"How? I trust you have a plan for this?"

"I do…but I'm not sure of a few details."

They decided to find their third friend, the armored man.

…

_Dawn,_

_There are many things I want to say but I am unsure of how to say them. I will start by addressing something I should have told you a long time ago: you have done nothing wrong and please do not think that you should be guilty of anything. I am grateful to you beyond words…forgive me if my actions would suggest otherwise. Our situation is extremely complicated and I feel that it would be best for both of us if we stayed away from each other. Please understand that this was not an easy request for me to make—there simply seems to be no other way. I apologize for all of this. I don't deserve any of the kindness that you so generously showed me and I wished that you had never taken it upon yourself to carry my burdens. I will miss you greatly for the rest of my days—I will always think of you as one of the best friends I ever had._

_C.F._

The letter had been read over several times, but Dawn only felt more confused each time she read it. Only one thing seemed to soak through the chaotic, noisy thoughts in her mind:

Claude didn't want anything to do with her ever again.

She had gone through the whole spectrum of emotions in the last few days: shock, disbelief, sadness, anger, more sadness, more anger, rage, bitterness, and grief. Acceptance wouldn't come. She loved him, damn it!

She sighed, resting her chin in her hand. Squishie tried to comfort her, but the poor little dog could only do so much. Dawn had spent many a night crying into her fur until she was exhausted enough to fall asleep. She didn't dare tell anyone else.

"I hate him," she sighed, though she didn't believe herself.

"Spoken like a true woman in love," Pierre said from the doorway, "I take it that something transpired?"

"Don't get me started," Dawn sighed, "unless you want to be here all night."

Pierre took this as an invitation to come in. He sat down in the rickety wooden chair.

"I'm getting you started," he joked.

"All right…you asked for it. Here."

She handed Pierre the letter. Pierre frowned.

"Hmm…"

"I don't get it," Dawn sighed, "he says I was his best friend and then he tells me he never wants to see me again. Maybe I'm losing something in translation here."

Pierre read over the letter again.

"Well…it sounds as though he's afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"He mentioned the two of you getting too close…if he doesn't feel something for you, then he at least sees the potential. Think about it…if he didn't perceive your friendship as a threat, so to speak, he would have no problems with you being around all the time."

Dawn stared.

"How can I possibly be a threat to him?"

"Well, not an actual threat…I believe it's more along the lines of him feeling something for you as well," Pierre told her, "he doesn't want to put his way of life, his vows, his position, and all that into jeopardy. He feels that this is the only way he can protect himself…and you. It's unfamiliar to him and it must have him scared out of his wits."

Dawn nodded.

"So, now what do I do?"

"Give him some time to get used to the idea. He may come around, he may not. It wouldn't be wise to stress him out further. If he sees that you respect his wishes, however absurd they may seem, it might win you some favor."

Dawn shrugged.

"All right, then, but I wish I had more patience. Waiting is not my forte."

"Mine either," Pierre said, handing the letter back, "but we may as well do something while we're waiting. I have started on a new play…would you care to read it?"

"Sure."

She followed him.


	17. Chapter 17

It was nearly a year and it seemed that everything was changing but their situation. Dawn had been invited to perform at parties and banquets, taking her success from the streets to an almost professional stance. She took Pierre and Esmeralda with her now that Paris seemed to have forgotten the incident that happened last winter. Pierre began to write more plays and more of the gypsies adopted acting as a trade.

Claude had made some massive changes to the way things went at Notre Dame. Some of the dishonest almsmen were thrown out in favor of trustworthy ones. A garden was started out back to grow food for the poor—anyone who had need of food would be escorted to it and could fill up a basket to take home. Some of the priests who had certain skills such as carpentry would sometimes offer their services at no charge, such as when a house burned down. Notre Dame became less of a cold, austere building and more of a moving, breathing unit. Claude didn't say where the inspiration came from, but he secretly remembered Dawn saying something about how disconnected the church seemed from the rest of the town. And yet, despite all of his success, he could not get rid of the empty feeling that had taken root and grew exponentially each day.

Then, just as fall faded into winter, Shadow informed the other two trio members that it was time to act.

"I suppose it's no use asking why we didn't do so earlier," the hooded woman mumbled.

"Because it wasn't time to," Shadow answered, "guess who just made it back into town?"

Just then, they saw the person in question.

"Isn't that Claude's brother?"

"He has the same eyes," the armored man commented.

"Yes…and the same face-shape, too," the hooded woman answered.

"Now, watch this."

The three stood at the edge of the crowd. Dawn was playing guitar. Shadow had brought her a new dress yesterday. The dress was mostly black with red and white trim. She looked especially becoming in it. It was a very nice winter dress with long sleeves and a lined underskirt.

The younger Frollo slid off of his horse, curious. He spotted Dawn in the center of the crowd. The music intrigued him. Her amulet flashed, unnoticed by her. Their eyes locked and a flicker of recognition entered her features.

_Goodness…for a second, I thought I was looking at Claude. Wait—I found him! I didn't do anything!_

The song was over. Coins had begun to fly at the case. The younger Frollo brother glanced down at them longingly. It had been weeks since he had gotten a decent meal.

"Can you and Esmeralda handle it for a second? I'll be back."

…

Joseph had just begun to believe that the girl wouldn't be back when he spotted her walking towards the cathedral. He had been standing on the front steps talking to someone when she and her companion paused a few paces out of earshot.

"Here comes trouble," Dawn told Jehan, "I'll keep him busy. You go inside, go up the set of stairs to the left, and then go down that hall to the middle door. Try not to get caught if you can help it. He should be around there somewhere. Just tell him that the sunrise sent you. He'll get it."

If that confused Jehan at all, he didn't say so. He merely nodded. They ascended the steps.

"Oh, no you don't!" Joseph growled. He moved to intercept them.

"Ah, Joseph! Nice to see you again! I see you missed me," Dawn teased. She saw Jehan slip inside out of the corner of her eye. So far, so good.

"Do I really need to call the guards?" he sounded exasperated.

"Nah…we wouldn't want them to know that you can't even chase a woman off all by yourself," Dawn teased.

The other robed man choked a laugh into a cough. She was being really rude, but he couldn't help but chuckle.

"How dare you speak to me that way?" Joseph was beginning to shake and his jaw was twitching.

"Because you're way too easy to rile up. I figure if you're going to be a pain in my butt, then I can be a pain in yours. Later."

And she walked off.

"That, Jacques," Joseph spat, "is exactly why we don't allow women into our lives. Look at her! Arrogant little creature!"

Jacques shrugged and struggled to keep a straight face. He didn't have the heart to tell Joseph that he'd just been fooled.

…

"Enter," Claude called when there was a knock on the door.

The door creaked open and Claude looked up from the book spread out on his desk.

"Ah, so it's true! You finally took over, did you? The next thing we know, they'll be naming you the bishop!"

Claude's mouth opened, but nothing came out. Of all the people on this earth, the last one he expected to see was his brother.

"What was it that I was supposed to say…Oh, yes! Now, I remember! The Sunrise sent me!"

"Sunrise…" Claude's mind made the connection almost instantly, "Dawn sent you here?"

"She walked me as far up as the steps. Then, some hideous creature chased her off!"

"Quasimodo?" Claude asked automatically—he didn't mean it to be offensive, it was just what he was used to hearing.

"No…this particular gargoyle wore robes not unlike yours."

Claude meant to snap at Jehan not to talk about the priests that way, but all that came out was a burst of laughter. He knew exactly whom Jehan referred to.

"Actually, come to think of it, your ward would be a much more welcome sight than that other one, nasty attitude that he had."

"Enough…what are you doing back in Paris? What about your plans to travel once the university threw you out?" Claude asked.

"The plans to travel sort of fell through…it was a rather large trial to get home," Jehan told him, "I even got married once, but the poor dear died after complications of the womb during pregnancy. I buried her four months after our wedding…no matter, I suppose. I was trying to do the right thing and keep from siring a bastard, but I suppose God saw fit to take the wretched thing. It's a shame, really…I wanted him. His mother was a different story. She vowed to love me for forever, but once she discovered she was with child, her love for me grew cold and she started to hate me. I had nothing to stay there for."

Claude frowned. Jehan might have been many things, but he had never lied. Sometimes Claude found himself wishing that Jehan would omit some details for his sake.

"I see…how did you meet Dawn?"

"I heard her singing long before I actually saw her. Her pet dog took a liking to me and the girl followed. It was the strangest thing—she recognized me the instant she saw me even though we had never met. She claimed that you had said something about me to her once and that I had the same eyes."

Claude couldn't remember talking about Jehan, but it had been a long time since he and Dawn had talked at all. It was in the realm of possibilities, he supposed.

"And then what?"

"I saw that she had plenty of coins in her instrument case and I asked her if she could spare a coin or two for me. She offered me five crowns if I would come straight here and talk to you. I took the coins and we walked here together. She's got to be the most unusual woman I've ever met."

"She's the most unusual woman anyone has ever met," Claude commented.

"Forgive me, brother, for prying, but why does she speak of you so intimately? Her eyes dance and her face radiates a glow when she hears your name."

Claude winced.

"It is a long story," he sighed, "a very long story."

Jehan settled into the chair.

"I have no place to go, for the inn is full, and I have nothing to do at the present," he said casually, "I believe I want to know what's going on."

"You'd think me ill of the mind," Claude warned.

"Try me. I have been halfway across the world and have seen much stranger things, I imagine."

"Very well…but I would rather this stay between us," Claude said warningly.

He had no idea why he told his brother everything. Maybe it was the fact that Jehan wasn't a threat to him. Maybe it was because he had missed him so much and desperately wanted to trust him. Maybe it was because the loneliness inside of him had become so great that it exploded out in a desperate rush. Maybe it was because he had been denying and repressing feelings he'd had for far too long and no amount of scourging, praying, self-mortification, and fasting could chase them away.

Jehan knew his brother could be rather impassioned sometimes—it was a trait that was known to run in their family. They simply exhibited their passion in different ways: Jehan was a very hedonistic, sensual creature that indulged heavily in earthly delights while Claude craved divine energy and indulgences of the soul rather than the flesh. Either way, both tended to exhibit some extreme emotions at times. Jehan listened patiently without judging him. It was something Claude hadn't had since Dawn herself had inhabited the bell tower.

…

"Well done," the armored man commented.

"How does this help them get together?" the hooded woman asked.

"It won't help directly," Shadow said, "but it will help to bridge the gap. We needed Claude to seek solace in something other than pain. Maybe now we can get some sense talked into him."


	18. Chapter 18

Claude was so exhausted that he couldn't stay awake another moment. Jehan was up in the bell tower for tonight. As Claude undressed and got into bed, his head was still buzzing.

He had told Jehan _everything._ He had tried to stop himself, but the effort was fruitless. The words had poured right out of him, bypassing his brain. Jehan had not teased him or made fun of him during this odd purging of himself.

It was strange…he felt more clean on the inside now than he had in months. He had expected Jehan to give him a hard time, to tease him and make him feel worse about what had happened. Jehan had exhibited some uncharacteristic sympathy for his brother and kept silent until Claude was done talking.

"I don't know why you've made it so complicated," Jehan finally said when there was a long silence, "she loves you even though she knows your faults. And I'm certain that you feel something for her as well. You're not accomplishing anything by making her stay away except making both of yourselves miserable."

"I'm doing us both a favor," Claude argued, "I cannot marry…and even if I left, what have I got to offer her? This cathedral is all that I know."

"You're thinking too much," Jehan informed him, "you're afraid of what the others will think, what will happen with your job, what Dawn will think, and you haven't even given her a chance to tell you what she wants. You're making it all about you when she's involved as well. It's not fair to her that you dismiss her so easily. If she wasn't so lovesick for you, I would try to court her myself. Did you ever one stop thinking and just allow yourself to feel?"

"I can't do that. The heart will lie, Jehan. That's how most sins get started."

Jehan snorted in disgust.

"Spoken like a bunch of people who are scared to relinquish control to anyone or anything but themselves. Tell me something, Claude, how do you know God exists? And before you answer that, don't quote a bunch of Bible verses. Just tell me how you personally know it."

"I feel His presence all around me," Claude told him, "and I hear His voice at times…"

He decided not to elaborate by mentioning the Phoebus incident.

"I see…now, how do you know when you're in God's presence?"

"There aren't really words to describe it…it's a very powerful presence…"

"What happens to your mind?"

"I either start to think more clearly or I don't think at all."

Jehan grinned.

"All right, so you know you're capable of not thinking so much when you're supposed to just _feel_ something…if you can do that with an all-powerful being, why is that so hard to do with Dawn? If your mind would stop creating this irrational fear of loving her, maybe you would actually figure out if you love her or if she's just a very good friend of yours. Then, you could put all this nonsense behind and stop ruminating on it day and night."

Claude was stunned. He thought about all the times he'd been taught to keep a firm hold on his inhibitions and to never release them…it went against everything he'd ever been told to do. And yet, it seemed the simplest of solutions.

"But what it-"

"Don't start that! You're a man, not an animal," Jehan scoffed, "that's precisely why I don't attend churches on a regular basis—they think that humans are rabid animals and have no self-control whatsoever."

…

"The man is as blunt as a spoon," the hooded woman commented, seeing the candle go out in the tower.

"Yes, but that's why I chose him," Shadow told her, "if anyone would tell Claude what everyone else is afraid to, it would be Jehan."

"Yes, but will it work?" the armored man asked.

"It will work."

Shadow lounged on the ledge outside of Claude's window as casually as if gravity was absolutely no threat to him, as did the other two.

"Now, for the finishing touch," Shadow said, "he is sleeping very deeply…hear the slowness of his breath?"

The window shutters quietly opened without any of them touching them.

"This is the fun part of the job," Shadow said, grinning, "Dawn isn't the only artistic being."

The three figures became transparent and ghostly-looking.

"Now…we need three things: love, acceptance, and courage. From there, use your imagination."

The hooded woman stepped towards the sleeping Claude. Her slender, delicate-looking hands traced an invisible pattern over his head. Though the image wasn't visible out here, Claude would see and that was all that mattered.

"Claude Frollo, I give you the blessing of love and mercy. May the fountain of your heart overflow so much with joy that others may drink of it when their own wells run dry and may you never grow weary of loving others. So I say in the Name of the Lord."

She touched Claude's heart and his forehead tenderly. Then, she kissed him tenderly on the cheek just as a mother would kiss a child good night.

Shadow was next. He leaned over Claude and inhaled sharply. A shadowy dark cloud blew out of Claude's mouth and nose as though he were exhaling smoke. Shadow sucked the cloud into his own body and glowed softly for just a moment.

"Claude Frollo, I give you the blessing of unconditional acceptance. May your preconceived notions never block the paths of mercy and compassion in your mind and your heart and may your mind and your ears always be open to His Will. So say I in the Name of Our Father."

The armored man was last. Drawing his sword, he lay the point of the blade against Claude's heart. The point of contact shone softly for a moment, a bright golden beam of light.

"Claude Frollo, I give you the blessing of courage. May you never be fearful of doing right on behalf of others and may you always know that God's love cloaks you like an impenetrable shield. May you extend that courage to others when their fear snuffs out their hope. So say I in the Name of the Holy Spirit."

The trio watched.

"He's dreaming," Shadow commented, almost with a tone of fascination, "we have planted the seed…now it must take hold. Let's make sure he is undisturbed for tonight."

The trio kept watch, thankful to be doing something besides waiting. Shortly before the sun rose, they left Claude to wake on his own. They hurried away as the world was encased in soft blue light.

…

Claude woke that morning to a strange feeling. For once, the dark despair that had become his constant companion was gone. The wariness lingered, but it was weakened considerably.

He had dreamed of three angels descending from the Heavens. His memory of them was fuzzy, but there was a strange familiarity about them. They whispered to him and led him down a path in the woods. Though the way had been somewhat perilous and the path was uneven and rocky, the way had smoothed just a step's length in front of him. He had been looking for something or someone, but he wasn't sure of what it was. Upon waking, the first thing he thought of was Dawn.

He wanted to go see her.

Not waiting for everyone else to wake, Claude hastily stripped off his nightgown and tossed it on the bed. He dressed quickly, shivering against the cold. He hurried down the halls as quickly and quietly as he could. An odd little thrill clenched his stomach as he wrapped his cloak around him and pulled up the hood. He felt like a teenager who was sneaking out! It made him smile.

He wasn't sure where to begin searching for the girl, but it did not matter to him now. He was going to find her and that was that.

"I said give him courage, not make him reckless!" Shadow teased.

"I did exactly what you said to do and we wanted him to find her, didn't we?" the armored man shot back.

"Stop arguing! I want to see what he does," the hooded woman said with an uncharacteristic warmth in her voice.

It was then that Claude spotted them. He walked right up to them and didn't hesitate at all. The armored man grinned.

"Have any of you seen a woman by the name of Dawn?"

"Ah, yes, actually…she's just around that corner. Watch out for the gypsies, though—they don't take kindly to anyone going into their camp uninvited."

"Thank you."

He hurried off.

"That worked very well," the hooded woman commented, "look at him go!"

…

He could hear the faint sound of Dawn's guitar and strained his ears. Though most of Paris had just woken up and it was still relatively quiet, he still had to wander around a bit until the sound got stronger. He finally spotted her talking to Pierre. Esmeralda was nearby and was warming her hands by the fire.

It was odd to him that he could look at her and feel nothing other than disappointment. Whatever lusts he had been feeling for her had evaporated already. It was a blessing.

He looked back at Dawn. She was lounging against a pile of wood. He had to stifle a chuckle when the wood suddenly gave way and her dark eyes grew wide with shock. She tumbled backwards and the logs rattled noisily as they fell. For a second, no one moved or breathed and they all looked at her. Despite having some sharp edges digging into her butt, back, and legs, Dawn shrieked with laughter. The others began to laugh, too, seeing that she wasn't hurt.

"Are you all right?" Pierre asked, grinning as he helped her up.

"Sure, sure…nothing but a few splinters in my…" she stopped abruptly, seeing the dark cloaked figure. Squishie bounded over to him, tail wagging so fast it was almost a blur.

"Arrooroorooroo!" she seemed to almost sing rather than bark. Dawn brushed the splinters off of her rear end and moved to get the dog. The gypsies were watching the cloaked figure rather warily and with good reason. A gloved hand reached out to pat Squishie just as Dawn reached him.

She bit her lip to keep a yell of joy from exploding out as blue-green eyes looked up into hers. She turned and gave the gypsies some kind of hand signal. Some still watched, but most of them went on about their business.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I wanted to thank you for sending Jehan," Claude told her, "we were able to reconcile our differences last night thanks to you."

"You're welcome," Dawn said softly.

"He told me of your kindness to him. Neither one of us will ever forget it."

She had the feeling there was something else he wanted to say, but she didn't press it. They stood there in silence for a moment.

"He told me how difficult the last few months have been as well," Claude finally choked out, "I'm sorry I put you through that. You shouldn't have to suffer for my weaknesses."

Dawn's belly felt as though there were butterflies shooting cannons at each other. As he was talking, his hands took hold of hers. Dawn's legs turned to water almost instantly.

"Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?"

His voice was thick with emotion. His hands squeezed hers a little bit tighter. She released them and pulled him into a very tight hug.

Claude's body went rigid at first.

_Don't think, just feel,_ Jehan's voice echoed in his mind.

He relaxed and wrapped both arms around her as well. Suddenly, an overwhelming warmth filled him. His eyes slid closed and his cheek rested against her hair. She smelled like smoke and stew and bread. There was also a unique scent that he would only be able to characterize as her own. She was warm and solid in his arms and he could feel her inhaling slowly as well. He never knew that feeling someone's breath slide in and out of their lungs could be such a moving experience.

"So…we're friends again?" she asked, "I don't have to worry about being chased away from the cathedral anymore?"

"Never again," he promised.

Dawn's belly suddenly gurgled and his did as well.

"Come on," she said, "I bet breakfast is ready. You can eat with us."

He allowed her to drag him into the crowd. They were confronted shortly after by the gypsy king.

"Who is this?" he demanded of Dawn.

"He's a friend of mine," Dawn said truthfully.

Clopin examined him closely.

"If he makes any trouble, I'm holding you responsible," the gypsy king warned before walking away.

"He likes you," Dawn laughed.

"I'm afraid to ask what he would do if he didn't," Claude lamented.

"He hangs the people he doesn't like," Dawn answered.

Claude's face paled a little.

"Don't worry…you're perfectly safe. He wouldn't question me because I earn the most coins. Besides, he knows you helped Esmeralda get out, so you're good unless you really screw up."

The group that was in charge of cooking that day began to set out the dishes.

"Give the signal," one of them said. Dawn flipped the switch on the amplifier and struck a chord. The others began to flock towards the food. Claude was being crushed in from all sides as hands grabbed at things. Within seconds, everyone had dispersed and nothing was left but crumbs.

Dawn giggled at the face he was making.

"I got enough stashed away for both of us. Come on."


	19. Chapter 19

The question had been burning in Joseph's mind all day. He hadn't gotten a chance to ask it until now. He knew that Claude was likely tired and would want to go to bed, but he himself would not be able to rest until he knew. Too many things had not made sense today.

First, Claude was nearly late for the very Mass that he was supposed to conduct. This never happened; Claude was almost always ready for the crowds early and was always calm and collected before hand. This time, he had vanished for half the morning, then came bursting in breathlessly. Joseph had helped him get into his robes for Mass and tried to interrogate him, but Claude insisted that he didn't have time to talk. Ever the faithful servant, Joseph gathered up Claude's discarded robes and wondered why he had worn a monk's mantle.

The second thing that confused Joseph was Dawn's presence. Dawn did not seem the sort to enjoy a Mass. Neither, Joseph thought, did she usually feel an obligation to sit through one. He could not remember her attending a single service during her stay here. And yet there she was on the very front row…

And then…

Then, there were the gypsies.

Joseph was astonished when the gypsies showed up. He was even more shocked at the way that the gypsies treated Claude…they behaved as though it were a play or a street fight rather than a holy occasion. What had nearly caused Joseph to come unglued was the fact that Claude handled their heckling with good-natured jabs of his own. After a small group had been repeatedly acting up, Claude quietly left his pulpit and came down the aisle to address them. The noisiest one was making lewd remarks. Dawn was torn between being anxious and trying not to laugh. Squishie barked despite Dawn's efforts to quiet her.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting," Claude said sweetly, "but I think the others would like to hear, don't you?"

They had not known what to make of that.

"You, sir," he said, addressing the noisiest one, "do you know the Ten Commandments?"

Thinking he was pretty smart, the young man rattled off the list.

"Very good…now, the question is whether you know which one applies to you and which one applies to the others here around you?"

That had gotten the lout confused.

"Love Thy Neighbor and Love God above all others?" he asked. Claude leaned in as if getting ready to tell him some great secret. In a feigned whisper that everyone could hear, Claude said, "You're very close…those two apply to most of the people here. But which two are yours?"

After the guy had sat there and demanded to know what Claude meant by that, Claude resumed his normal "preaching" voice.

"That was a good guess…the first one, the one that applies to you is 'Thou Shalt Not Bear False Witness'. I hardly believe that a man who has done all that you claim to have done would still be alive."

The room filled with snorts and fits of barely-suppressed laughter.

"The second," Claude said with a smug expression, "is 'Thou Shalt Not Kill.' Now, if you're quite finished making a fool out of yourself, please close your mouth and let the others listen."

A murmur bubbled up from the crowd. Dawn buried her face in her hands and laughed hysterically. Though the rest of Claude's features had rearranged into the familiar and comforting sternness, his eyes would twinkle when his gaze rested on her.

Joseph had been furious.

He _had_ been with her, just as Jehan had calmly said that he would be. So…that was where he had gone this morning.

Dawn had finally left almost an hour ago. He wasn't sure what compelled her to stay other than Claude's company…one could only pity Quasimodo so much, after all. Bracing himself, he made his way up to Claude's cell and quietly knocked.

Claude opened the door after a second, surprised.

"Joseph…did you need something?"

A surge of emotion in Joseph surged upward like hot magma. He forced it back down. There were many things he was struggling not to think about.

Claude had been asleep, he thought guiltily…his hair was mussed from his pillow. His eyes were still hazy and his voice still thick from what sounded like a very deep sleep. While Joseph collected his thoughts, Claude yawned so hugely that Joseph could almost see down his throat.

"I'm sorry, Your Excellency…I did not know you were already in bed," Joseph apologized, "I'll just go now…"

A painful tightening in his nether regions made the adrenaline surge into his veins. What was the matter with him? This was Claude…a man he had known for most his life!

"No…that's what I'm here for," Claude yawned again. When his mouth had stopped stretching and he was able to talk again, he said: "Has something been bothering you? You seem…different, lately."

A flicker of fear emerged behind the strange feeling.

"I have? How so?"

"Well…you seem very distracted. I don't want to make any wrongful assumptions, but you almost seem…guilty…about something."

Joseph inwardly asked God why He was putting him in this situation.

"I can't say," Joseph blurted out.

The sleepy look was replaced with concern.

"Do you really believe it's that bad?" Claude asked.

_It's pretty bad when all I can think about is you as of late…_

His dark eyes flicked to Claude's hand gripping the door frame. It looked incredibly soft…how would it have felt to caress Claude's slender, delicate hand with his own palm, to feel it squeeze his own for just a second?

Boldness seized him for a split second and Joseph's hand closed around Claude's.

"I fear so," Joseph admitted, "I cannot see a way out."

He certainly looked scared. Claude didn't give the gesture a second thought; as a minister, he was used to people wanting to touch him. It was their way of seeking reassurance and security when they had none. He could feel the tremors racing through Joseph's fingers.

"You can tell me," Claude said calmly.

Joseph couldn't even look him in the face.

"Confession is good for the soul, Joseph. God will forgive."

Joseph's dark eyes finally met Claude's ocean-colored gaze.

"I…I'm having feelings I don't understand towards someone I shouldn't," he blurted out suddenly, "it plagues me day and night and I cannot rest from it…I've prayed and I've prayed that God would eradicate this awful sickness in me, but it won't go away. I should be grateful, I suppose, that the object of these feelings appears to want someone else, but it only makes me angry."

He waited for Claude to chew him out for entertaining such unholy thoughts, but Claude did not.

"I see…how long has this been going on?" Claude asked gently.

"Almost a year," Joseph admitted, "though it was very gradual."

"Those situations are the most dangerous," Claude commented, "we begin to change before we even realize it. I won't ask who it is that you've felt for."

They were silent for a moment.

"Let's pray," Claude suggested.

Kneeling together in the floor of Claude's cell, they joined hands and began to pray. Joseph was painfully aware of Claude's every move, his every breath, his every touch. When Claude's hands touched Joseph, lightning bolts of electricity surged through Joseph's body. He opened his eyes at one point, seeing that Claude's were closed. He dearly wished that some of Claude's serenity had rubbed off on him…Joseph was very short-tempered and it was a vice he would always struggle with.

"Feel better?" Claude asked when the prayer was ended.

"A little," Joseph said meekly, staring into the coals of the fireplace.

"Try not to worry," Claude cautioned him, "it will make the matter worse. Worrying is like telling God that you don't trust Him."

A deep sense of shame filled Joseph.

"I'll try," he sighed, getting to his feet.

"One more thing—just out of curiosity, did your agitation have something to do with Dawn attending Mass today?"

"Yes."

Joseph saw realization in Claude's eyes and waited for the axe to fall. He was doomed—Claude was going to throw him out and strip him of everything.

"These feelings by themselves are normal, even expected, but you'll have to be careful how you deal with them," Claude told him, "swinging between extremes of love and hate can lead you so far astray that you almost can't find your way back."

Joseph was confused. He couldn't ever remember showing hatred towards Claude.

"I noticed the way you reacted to Dawn and Esmeralda right from the start," Claude commented, "and I treated Esmeralda exactly the same way that you treat Dawn. First, we see how beautiful they are and we want to say that we love them for that. Then we grow angry and bitter at them for making us feel things we don't want to and don't understand. I've been through that and I assure you that it will pass. I saw Esmeralda in the street just today and I felt nothing but bitter disappointment…though I was unsure as to whether it was directed at her or myself. With time, you could have a very strong friendship with Dawn as long as it goes no further."

Joseph didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Claude honestly thought that he was in love with the overweight street musician? He suppressed his disgusted shudder.

"I won't tell anyone," Claude promised, "this is between you, me, and the Lord. If you need to talk again, come and find me, but do not suffer in silence."

Joseph nodded numbly.

"Thank you, Your Excellency."

Claude tapped his shoulder gently.

"Go in peace, brother."

Joseph left.

Claude watched him practically run down the hallway with a troubled expression. Until he had met Esmeralda, Claude would never have guessed that Joseph loved Dawn. Joseph had never expressed anything but strong resentment towards Dawn since she had arrived here. Now that he had gone through all of that himself, it made perfect sense.

God had made him suffer so that he would understand the suffering of other priests who had formed affections for women.

Whatever Joseph did, Claude would try to help him stay on the path to righteousness. If Joseph absolutely could not help himself, then Claude would marry them and help them find another place to live.

The thought, strangely enough, bothered him though his intentions were noble.

Joseph was quick-tempered, impulsive, and sometimes downright rude though he didn't mean to be. He seemed very judgmental and Dawn disliked judgmental people with a passion although all humans were subject to be that way. Dawn seemed relatively trusting of people as a whole though she made it clear she didn't want to be in a romantic relationship again—that by itself would present a problem. Or did it? If she didn't return Joseph's affections, then Joseph would be forced to overcome his feelings and he would recover.

Claude made a face. He was getting a headache.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, the idea of Dawn being with someone else bothered him more than he realized. What would become of their friendship if she ever married? Would her husband be jealous and keep her away? Would she be too busy to come and see him on occasion?

He remembered how much she had made him laugh today. He remembered her kindness to the gypsies. He remembered all of her flaws and how they seemed to harmonize with her strengths rather than oppose them and make her less. He liked that she was impulsive, loud, impatient, and energetic. There was nothing wrong with liking someone.

But was there more to it than that?

_I want her to be with someone who loves her,_ Claude thought, _that will never try to suppress her or rule over her. She's special…she deserves someone who will treat her as such. Of course I would be a little concerned—I am her friend. Her very close friend…_

He had shared things with Dawn that he would have otherwise taken to the grave. Before succumbing to exhaustion again, Claude thanked God for sending such a good friend to his life and prayed that His will would be done in all their lives. Then, he faded into a deep, heavy sleep.

….

"You're honestly going to let him think that Joseph loves Dawn?" the woman asked incredulously. Her hood was a shade of dark blue tonight and it slipped back slightly, revealing a pale, delicate chin.

"What's the harm in it? Besides…it got him to think, didn't it? His recurring thought just now was how poorly matched that Dawn and Joseph would be," Shadow replied, his monk's mantle rippling in the wind, "he needed an incentive to entertain that thought anyway. Any day now, he'll come to the conclusion that no one can love Dawn better than he can…except for our Lord, of course."

"I see trouble ahead, Shadow," the armored man warned, "Joseph is horribly jealous of Dawn as it is. If we put them in the wrong situation, something very bad could happen."

"Well, I have a theory about this," Shadow said calmly, "Adam and Eve would not move from their one spot in the Garden of Eden until something terrible happened. They stayed right where they were and it got them into trouble—God told them to tame the earth and they just stayed there. Right now, things are going very well…too well, in fact."

"So…what will we do?"

The woman adjusted the edge of her hood.

"We will let Joseph's jealousy burn out of control just as a wildfire," Shadow told them, "and then…then comes the beautiful part. They will see that they belong together. They will no longer be able to hide it in the shadows as God's light pours into city of Paris and reveals all. And we will watch over them all as it happens."


	20. Chapter 20

This was one of the best days that Quasimodo could remember.

His master had been smiling and laughing when he'd come to visit. He had even, much to Quasimodo's surprise, hugged him. He looked younger and the shadows under his eyes were gone.

Quasimodo smiled when he remembered why.

Dawn was back.

He had seen them walking up to the cathedral together—running, actually. It surprised him—his master was never late for anything.

Quasimodo had also seen Joseph earlier…Joseph was unhappy about something. Quasimodo didn't like the way that Joseph looked at Dawn. He wondered if Dawn had done something to anger Joseph…but what could she have possibly done? Dawn had upset his master before, but it had always been accidental and he'd forgiven her quickly.

Joseph, on the other hand, was not a particularly kind man. Quasimodo remembered the saying of "a wolf in sheep's clothing". His master had once explained that just because a man wore black robes, it did not always make him a good man. Change, he had said, came from the inside.

Squishie appeared on the stairs first and Quasimodo let out a joyous shout. The dog seemed equally happy to see him as well. Her tail was a straw-colored blur as she pounced on him, barking excitedly. Dawn appeared moments later.

"You came back! You came back! I knew that you would!"

She hugged him without the slightest hesitation. She had missed Quasimodo's uncomplicated nature—he did not feel the need to fool anyone or pretend that he was someone else.

"I am glad you returned," Quasimodo told her, "my master was very unhappy without you. He was angry all the time…and sad. He grieved at your loss though you are not dead."

It was a morbid comparison, but it was the only point of reference that Quasimodo had. The way he had seen Claude act was just like a person mourning a death.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dawn commented, shifting uncomfortably, "I didn't want to stay away…you know that, don't you? Your master is a very complicated man."

Quasimodo thought for a moment.

"He is happy when you stay, he is angry and sad when you leave," he explained, "you are his friend. He is mistaken when he says that he doesn't need you…that is all. I watch him when he watches you. Even my ladies are struck dumb at the sound of your voice when you sing."

He gestured to the bells nearby.

Dawn smiled. That was a huge compliment to her.

"One day, you should sing with them," Quasimodo told her.

"One of these days, I will," she promised.

"My master should give you a ring."

Dawn stared, shocked.

"A pretty ring to go on your finger," Quasimodo told her, "that way, you can stay forever."

It took her a minute to realize that Quasimodo was suggesting that they get married.

"It's a little more complicated than that," Dawn said breathlessly, "but it's a sweet thought."

"Why? I have seen others do it," Quasimodo responded, "they stand in front of a priest and say vows to love each other forever. Then the man puts the ring on the woman's finger. The priest tells you what to say so that you won't forget."

A misty image formed in Dawn's mind. The most vivid thing about the mental picture was the contrast of cool metal and Claude's warm hand.. Or…perhaps the ring would be warm instead, from his touch.

Suddenly, butterflies awoke in her gut. These butterflies weren't pretty, little delicate things, either. They were shooting cannons at each other.

"I have upset you," Quasimodo lamented.

"No," Dawn said quickly, "I was just thinking…I promised Pierre I'd be back after the service. I'll see you soon, Quasi."

She hugged him quickly and bolted down the stairs. She yelped when she plowed into somebody in the hallway. Instinctually, she grabbed the person to keep them from hitting the stone floor.

"Sorry about that! Oh…"

Her dark eyes met Joseph's blazing ones and she released him quickly.

"You had better stop planting ideas into Quasimodo's head," he snapped, "I know what you're doing!"

Dawn's head tilted in the manner of a puzzled puppy.

"You do? Well, can you enlighten me on the subject then? Cause I'm not sure I know."

Her sarcasm soured his expression further.

"His Excellency has been in the Lord's service for the vast majority of his life," Joseph hissed, "he knows very little of life outside this cathedral and the priesthood. If you took him away from it, it would destroy him! His mind is clouded by drunkenness from your songs and your lofty ideas. If you loved him as much as everyone claims you do, you would stop putting him at risk right this minute!"

Suddenly, the pieces snapped into place.

"He never got my letters, did he?" Dawn demanded, "What did you do with them?"

"That is not of importance. It is my obligation to protect him."

"From what, dare I ask? He's a fully grown man, Joseph! You treat him like he's your kid or your…"

The anger suddenly drained out of her expression.

"That's it, isn't it? This isn't about me at all! It's not me that's the problem here, it's that you don't want him to be with someone else!"

Joseph's face went red, then white.

"HOW DARE YOU?" His indignant roar was like a gunshot in the relative quiet.

Dawn shook her head.

"Now I've seen everything," she sighed, "I feel sorry for you, Joseph. Now I see why you're so nasty and miserable all the time. I think Claude would be a little aggravated with you if he knew how you'd been running interference."

Joseph seized her and flattened her against the wall. His eyes were bright with an almost maddened, savage look.

"You will not speak of it again. Ever," he panted raggedly, "because Claude's life depends on it."

Dawn's eyes widened with horror.

"You wouldn't!" she yelped.

"Oh, believe me, I would! I am not above sending someone from this world to the next to protect them from the flames of Hell," Joseph hissed in her ear, "I love him that much. If you did, you would understand."

Dawn shoved him away.

"Joseph, you are a very sick man," she said in disgust.

"Am I?" he responded with a savage grin.

Neither one of them noticed Jehan in the shadows.

"Get out of my sight," Joseph growled, "I can't stand to look at you."

"The feeling is mutual, pal!"

She turned on her heel with her nose in the air.

Claude happened to walk past.

"Joseph, are you all right?" he asked, seeing that the priest appeared visibly shaken.

"Yes, of course…" Joseph stuttered awkwardly.

"Dawn seemed upset," Claude commented.

"We had a difference of opinion," Joseph said truthfully.

"I see…"

The tension was almost a living, breathing thing.

"Is there not a way to work out your differences?"

"I'm afraid not," Joseph replied.

Claude's expression was sympathetic.

"Would you like me to talk to her?"

"No…thank you," he said wearily, "I'm afraid this is something she wouldn't want mentioned."

Something was wrong, but Claude couldn't put his finger on it. He doubted that Dawn would ever share something that delicate with Joseph without telling him. He wondered what it could possibly be.

"All right."

Joseph slunk away into the shadows. Jehan waited until he was gone to make an appearance.

"Come with me."

"Jehan, I can't. I have work to do."

"It can wait for five minutes. Come on!"

"Where are we going?"

"We're going where the walls don't have ears. Come on!"


	21. Chapter 21

"What's so important that you can't tell me inside?" Claude asked Jehan. Never had he felt such a mixture of concern and annoyance before. Whatever Jehan planned to tell him, it must be bad…

"I want to talk about that assistant of yours, Joseph," Jehan commented, "have you noticed him acting odd lately?"

Unwilling to break Joseph's confidence, yet not wanting to lie either, Claude simply nodded.

"I know why," Jehan said.

"As do I."

"Do you? You've been awfully calm about it."

"He can't help what he feels anymore than I can help needing air to breathe," Claude responded.

Jehan raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think you understand…yes, he seems to be in love, but do you know who with?"

Claude nodded.

"Dawn."

He was surprised when Jehan snorted with laughter.

"Afraid it's a little more complicated than that," Jehan said when he recovered, "he and Dawn have trouble being in the same room together. Dawn would kill him."

"Yes, I know."

"It's not Dawn that he has feelings for, my poor, naïve brother."

"It isn't?"

Claude felt guilty for talking about Joseph's personal life, but he somehow couldn't stop himself.

"No."

Jehan hoped that the momentary silence would get him to think.

"He hasn't been around other women often," Claude told Jehan, "unless he's seeing her in secret."

Jehan all but smacked his forehead out of frustration.

"That's because it's not a girl."

"But that would mean…"

Claude paled.

"Exactly…and who has he been around the most?" Jehan prompted.

Claude's gulp was audible and he looked like he would throw up any second.

"Are you sure without a shadow of a doubt?"

He prayed it wasn't true. He prayed that Jehan was wrong. In a lot of ways, Jehan wanted to be wrong. Unfortunately, there was nothing to disprove his theory at the moment. There were too many coincidences: first, Joseph's outrage towards Dawn, then the way he seemed eager to be rid of her…

"I'm sure," Jehan sighed, feeling bad for upsetting his brother, "I wish it weren't so for all of your sakes, but there's no way around it. Something will need to be done."

"But there are others," Claude objected quickly, "and they never act on their desires…"

"That's true, but this one's got a temper," Jehan reminded Claude, "under the right circumstances, something very bad could happen if you don't send him elsewhere."

Claude shuddered. He remembered Joseph's loyalty and their sort-of friendship that was several years old. It would explain Joseph's increasing nastiness recently—he had been snapping at several people. He had almost collapsed into tears when Claude chastised him for it, then he had promptly apologized to them all. The way Joseph would look at Claude with such longing…Claude had always thought it was merely because of his promotion to archdeacon.

"Don't trust him, Claude. Passion is a dangerous thing and it makes men do things even more from madness than the drink," Jehan warned him, "Joseph strikes me as the kind that will do whatever he can to get what he wants."

"But…"

Claude didn't have to say it. He was thoroughly disgusted and wondered how Joseph could even wish such a thing. He would never be able to think of Joseph the same way again.

"I don't know what to do," Claude said quietly, "if I send him away, everyone will know that something's happened. I don't want to tell anyone—you know how the world treats a man who…"

He trailed off, unable to say the words.

"Tell the bishop and let him take care of it," Jehan told him, "that's what he's there for."

Claude made a face.

"I would…but that would involve telling him about Dawn as well. I don't want her brought into this."

"It's too late," Jehan told him, "Dawn knows of it as well and he threatened her."

A sudden burst of outrage filled Claude and his pallid face suddenly flamed red.

"He WHAT?"

"Yes…in fact, he used you as the blackmail," he informed Claude, "so he probably would carry it through."

Claude's eyes closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to get rid of a headache.

"That girl…" he sighed impatiently, "seems to get herself into more trouble than anyone else I know."

"Yes, but you love her," Jehan said boldly.

Claude's expression was one of displeasure.

"Oh, come now, brother! You know it as well as I do and there's no getting around it. As you said, you can't control what you feel."

This was turning out to be a very frustrating day. Claude was ready to tell them all to go away and leave him alone.

"What I feel or don't feel is irrelevant," Claude said coldly, "there's nothing I can do about it and talking about it is useless."

Jehan smirked.

"If you say so. Just think about what I said about Joseph…don't give him a chance to carry out his threat."

Claude sighed.

"I have work to do," he said, his mask of composure falling into place, "I can't stay out here all day."

Jehan watched him go and wished he could be somewhat more like Dawn.

…

Dawn sat on the riverbank. She threw stones into the water and felt sorry for herself.

"How could he do it, Squish? How could he ever want to hurt somebody that he claims to care so much about?"

Squishie crawled into Dawn's lap, a gesture of sympathy.

"I don't understand it when Joseph says it anymore than I did when Claude was like that."

She stroked Squishie's straw-colored hair and the little dog flopped over on her back, exposing her belly. Dawn smiled.

"You spoiled thing."

She scratched the dog's belly.

Jehan spotted her. She didn't realize he was there until he cast a shadow on her.

"Hi," she mumbled.

"If I had to bet on one of you, I would say that you'd win against Joseph."

Dawn's head snapped up.

"You heard him?"

"Yes."

They were quiet for a little while.

"Claude knows about it now," Jehan assured her.

"But what if Joseph thinks I'm the one that told him?" Dawn asked.

"He won't. For now, we'll just have to be very, very careful. Try not to act differently."

Dawn nodded, wondering how she got herself into these messes on such a regular basis.

"What does Claude think?"

Jehan grinned.

"He looked ill, actually," he smirked, "I'd say that you would be the obvious choice if he were ever faced with it."

Dawn couldn't resist a smile. She didn't begrudge people the right to feel what they felt, but she did have a problem with them being so mean about it.

"Well…now what do we do?"

"I don't know," Jehan confessed, "I'll keep as close of an eye on him as I can. It wouldn't hurt for you to…well, break out your songs, so to speak. Claude's going through a very confusing time right now. It would be better if he didn't have any doubts about who really cares for him."

The idea seemed so silly that Dawn burst into giggles.

"Sorry…" she choked out, "it's just the mental image I got…you know, me standing out there singing to him. It's like Romeo and Juliet in reverse—never mind…but won't that bother him? I'm not sure he wants me making it public."

"Well…the truth is that no one's really going to know who you're singing to unless you say his name. He'll know, of course, but so many others will be watching that you won't be endangering him."

"What about Joseph? Won't it make him mad?"

"What about him? If he tries anything, he'll be sorry he ever met me. We've got sheer numbers on our sides. Look at the priests that like you…and the gypsies, for that matter. If things go wrong, they can easily overpower anyone who gets in the way."

"But I don't want to cause a riot."

Jehan sighed.

"You and my brother belong together. You know why? You both think too much."

Dawn sighed.

"God have mercy," she sighed, "this has got to be the craziest thing I've ever been asked to do."

…

"We're going to catch a priest? Hmmm….this should be interesting," one of Esmeralda's friends said in a witchlike voice, "leave it to me, dear."

Lucie was aging quickly and approaching old age, but she had taken her fair share of lovers in her prime. Under the wrinkles, leathery skin, and graying hair, she still had some traces of beauty. Esmeralda and Pierre were nearby. Jehan had gone back to the cathedral…Dawn wondered what he was going to do there. Now that Esmeralda was no longer the object of the priest's affections, she was surprisingly positive. Though she and Dawn had never been able to resolve all of their differences, they were getting along much better.

"Let me see your palm, child," Lucie told her. Dawn cringed slightly; Lucie's hands were freezing. With a long nail, she traced a few lines and muttered to herself.

"It would be better if I could see his hands as well," she lamented, "but we'll have to make do with just yours for the moment."

Then, suddenly, she caught sight of Dawn's amulet and her dark eyes widened. She seized the thing and held it up to look at it. A gasp that sounded like dry leaves rattling escaped her throat.

"You found it? Out of all the people on this earth, it was you?"

Dawn looked at her questioningly.

"A priest in my homeland gave it to me as a birthday present," she told her, "you act like you've seen it before."

The gypsy woman nodded vigorously.

"I created it," she said in a dreamlike tone, "My Francois…he was the love of my life. He started out as a priest. I haven't seen him in quite some time, but he should be returning any day now. He said there were some things he had to sort out at our old home."

Dawn nodded.

"I knew another like you once," Lucie said, "her name was Paquette. She always wanted what she couldn't have and she paid dearly for it. She thought her daughter had died and so became the anchoress at Notre Dame, devoted to a life of penance."

"What happened to the daughter?" Dawn inquired.

"She lives. I happen to know because I had a hand in raising her," Lucie said with a conspiratorial grin.

"Who is she?"

Lucie glanced over at Esmeralda, who was attempting to teach Djali a new trick.

Dawn stared.

"Yes…" Lucie confirmed.

"Why hasn't anyone told her?" Dawn asked.

"Because there is a season for everything," Lucie assured her, "she'll find out soon enough. Now, we've got to figure out what to do about you and your priest. We'll need to be ready for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Dawn yelped, "that's not enough time!"

"Oh, yes it is," Lucie assured her, "it will be then or never. The more people worry and stew over matters of the heart, the more they doubt themselves and doubt God that they were ever meant to be together. When I had this amulet forged, I had the archdeacon in mind. I knew that he would not be satisfied with just a pretty face. God help Esmeralda, I love her so, but she's…a bit shallow sometimes. He needed a stronger woman, someone who was willing to defy the gravity of Parisian society. I had a feeling that the amulet would be sent to another time. How many years, by the way?"

"Well…I'd say it was over six-hundred," Dawn guessed.

"Six-hundred years… my, my! Well, you're here now and that's all that matters."

She studied Dawn's features.

"Hmmm…we must have some gold to match your hair…yes, and white to make your complexion glow. Lavender would be an excellent complement to both…by the time we're finished with you, dear, he won't be able to look at anything else!"


	22. Chapter 22

"I feel ridiculous," Dawn muttered, "I haven't been this dressed up since senior prom."

"You look stunning," Lucie told her, "but stop staring at the ground. If all else fails, watch his eyes."

The dress that Shadow had mysteriously produced was one of the most beautiful medieval gowns that Dawn had ever seen. Her blonde curls had been pulled up into elaborate braids with white flowers interwoven. A few strands had artfully been left to hang down so that her somewhat pointy face didn't look so austere. She had practiced the song so much that the words were permanently engraved in her mind—she hoped like Hell that she wouldn't forget. Armed with the guitar, Squishie, and a determined will to ignore the butterflies that were shooting cannons inside of her gut, they set out.

The gypsies were all gathering at various places in front of the cathedral. They would stay hidden unless something happened. Dawn looked around for Shadow, but he had disappeared yet again. She huffed in annoyance: would it have killed him to stick around?

The procession of gypsies with musical instruments didn't escape the notice of the other priests. Curious as to what they were celebrating, they gathered on the front steps of Notre Dame. A few of them smiled at Dawn—although none would admit it, they enjoyed her music as much as everyone else. Dawn clicked the amplifier on and set it on the acoustic setting. Jehan appeared at a second-story window and made a "go on" gesture. She swallowed nervously. It was as if all of the moisture in her mouth and throat had migrated to her back, the palms of her hands, and her face and multiplied there. After a few clumsy, faltering notes, she bowed her head and prayed to God to give her strength for a moment or two. Her nerves now steadying, she began to play again.

Claude glanced up from something he was working on. Puzzled, he got up from his desk and followed the music. Jehan was waiting by the window with a big grin.

"What are they doing down there?" Claude asked him.

"Good question. You should stay here and watch."

"I can't, Jehan. I have work to do—and I can't concentrate with them playing the music so close by."

"You can afford a few minutes," Jehan argued.

Claude moved, but Jehan's hand on his shoulder made him stop. More confused by the second, he stayed put. It was obvious that Jehan did not plan to let him leave.

_Je sais ton amour  
Je sais l'eau versée sur mon corps  
Sentir son cours jour aprčs jour  
J'ai remonté les tourments pour m'approcher encore  
J'ai ton désir ancré sur le mien  
J'ai ton désir ancré ŕ mes chevilles  
Viens, rien ne nous retient ŕ rien  
Tout ne tient qu'ŕ nous_

Dawn's French was still so heavily accented that it was barely passable. He had to listen to her for a few seconds to understand her. Even from up here, he noticed that her amulet was missing. He vaguely remembered that she was hard, if not impossible to understand, without it. He then understood…she had tried to learn the song without the aid of the amulet. It must have taken a great deal of effort. He recognized this tune from somewhere…

_Je fais de toi mon essentiel  
Tu me fais naître parmi les hommes  
Je fais de toi mon essentiel  
Celle que j'aimerais plus que personne  
Si tu veux qu'on s'apprenne  
Si tu veux qu'on s'apprenne_

The citizens of Paris looked on approvingly and lovingly. They had begun to mass around her in a large crowd. Many of them followed her gaze upward and were smiling at this exchange.

The recognition crossed Claude's face, followed by a quick succession of various feelings.

"Is she singing about me?"

He asked in a very quiet whisper as though he were afraid someone else would hear his suspicion.

"Who else?" Jehan replied warmly.

Shadow had appeared again. He pushed the "overdrive" button in on the amplifier and some of the gypsy musicians also joined in.

_Tu sais mon amour  
Tu sais les mots sous mes silences  
Ceux qu'ils avouent, couvrent et découvrent  
J'ai ŕ t'offrir des croyances  
Pour conjurer l'absence  
J'ai l'avenir gravé dans ta main  
J'ai l'avenir tracé comme tu l'écris  
Tiens, rien ne nous emmčnes plus loin  
Qu'un geste qui revient_

_Je fais de toi mon essentiel  
Tu me fais naître parmi les hommes  
Je fais de toi mon essentiel  
Celle que j'aimerais plus que personne  
Si tu veux qu'on s'apprenne  
Si tu veux qu'on s'apprenne_

Now the other priests had figured it out. They looked at each other with various reactions; some wore happy, warm smiles. Others seemed a little unsettled, but there was no malicious face among them. Quasimodo had begun to ring the bells upstairs and it took the people of Paris a moment to realize he was ringing them for Dawn.

Joseph was shaking with anger. So, the little wretch was willing to risk Claude's life after all. He glanced over at Claude, watching his face. He was horrified at what he saw.

Claude's cheeks had flushed slightly. His hands rested on the windowsill calmly, not gripping it hard as he would have done if he had been angry or unsettled in any way. He was enjoying the attention.

The way he looked down at Dawn was the very way that Joseph had longed to be looked at. With a sickening wrench in his gut, Joseph realized that nothing would change without his involvement.

_Je ferai de toi mon essentiel  
Mon essentiel  
Si tu veux qu'on s'apprenne  
Qu'on s'appartienne_

The song ended just as Claude had gone down the stairs. Dawn, sensing that he was going to meet her at the entrance, unstrapped her guitar and handed it to Shadow. She ran forward, having to hold her skirt up so that she wouldn't trip over it. The people were shouting and applauding around her, but she had tuned everyone and everything else out.

Joseph gripped the handle of his dagger as he approached Claude from the back. Jehan was talking to someone else. It was now or never. He felt sick as he drew his weapon.

Dawn appeared inside the doorway, beaming like the ray of sunshine she was named after. Claude ventured towards her. Joseph raised the dagger.

Dawn saw his shadow out of the corner of her eye. With a cry of alarm, she grabbed Claude and turned him away from the unforgiving blade. The result was a shallow scrape on her shoulder. Claude was so surprised that he didn't get a chance to react.

Dawn jumped on Joseph and a struggle ensued. Jehan tried to pry them apart, but to no avail. They were intoxicated with adrenaline. Dawn's heart was thundering as she desperately tried to wrench the dagger out of Joseph's hand. When she locked gazes with him, she saw almost no indication that there was a human left in there. His hands went around her throat when he lost the dagger. Choking and scared out of her wits, Dawn's hand landed on the dagger and buried it in his shoulder.

By then, the other priests had surged into the entrance. With more hands available, they managed to pry Dawn and Joseph apart. Dawn's flowery braids had come loose in places and her dress was torn around the shoulder. Joseph's wound was bleeding freely.

Dawn glanced over at Claude, desperate to know that he was all right. She couldn't tell if he'd been injured or not; his face was white with shock and Jehan was supporting him. He trembled so much that she was afraid he had gotten hurt. Just as she was about to go to him, arms seized her from behind.

"Oh, no you don't! Drop that knife right now!" a voice shouted in her ear. Dawn's fingers loosened and the bloody knife clattered noisily in the floor. She hadn't realized she was still holding it—she thought she'd left it in Joseph's shoulder.

"He was trying to hurt Claude," she said shakily.

They dragged her towards the door.

"No, you don't understand! It was Joseph, not me! Let me go! CLAUDE!"

Her voice was sharp and high-pitched with fear. Claude stayed frozen where he was, unable to say or do anything.

"TELL THEM! HELP ME!" Dawn pleaded, struggling against their grip.

The door closed behind them. Claude saw only the closed door before blackness swallowed him up.


	23. Chapter 23

The trio watched as Dawn was hauled off to the Bastille, still protesting and pleading.

"This was your brilliant plan, Shadow?" the armored man asked incredulously.

"Well," Shadow said, only slightly troubled, "that's not exactly what I pictured…"

"You're going to fix it, aren't you?" the hooded woman asked.

"Of course…though it's going to get a bit more complicated," Shadow sighed, "let's check on the others for just a moment."

With Claude slumped unconscious in the floor and Jehan and Joseph arguing, it seemed that no one could agree on what had really happened. Though Jehan valiantly defended Dawn, one man's story would not be enough to clear her name. It didn't look very promising with the other priests, either.

It was several hours later that Claude finally awoke in his own bed. His memory came rushing back to him the moment he opened his eyes.

"Jehan," he groaned weakly, "what happened?"

"She saved your life…again."

Claude's heart double-thumped as his worst fears were confirmed.

"Joseph?" was all he had to ask.

Jehan nodded.

"He's in the infirmary. All he can talk about is that Dawn is the devil's instrument and that she tried to seduce you with dark magic. He's very weak…he's lost a lot of blood. If he dies…"

He didn't have to continue. Things didn't look good at all. If Joseph died, Dawn was as good as dead. Murdering someone else was one thing, but murdering a priest was an almost automatic death sentence.

"And Dawn?" Claude prompted.

"They took her to the Bastille. Her trial is to begin shortly, though I'm sure without a doubt that it's fixed. No one saw what happened except for you and I."

Claude's breath hitched and his throat constricted.

"We have to do something!" he choked out, attempting to sit up. Jehan's hand stilled him.

"Claude, she's on trial for _murder_…of a _priest_! And witchcraft on top of it! They'd no sooner believe us than they'd believe any other miraculous thing happening!"

He realized immediately afterward that he shouldn't have said that. His brother had been through a nasty emotional shock and was more vulnerable now than he'd ever been. A pained noise escaped Claude's lungs and he buried his face in his pillow.

"Oh, Claude, I'm sorry," Jehan said quickly, "listen to me! Dawn wouldn't want us to give up!"

"But you're right!" Claude's voice shook with tears.

"Maybe I'm not," Jehan sighed, patting his back awkwardly, "Paul and his friends escaped similar fates, didn't they?"

A choked sob was muffled by the pillow.

"What?" Jehan asked gently.

Claude raised his head.

"She can't die! She can't! I love her!" he yelled brokenly.

Despite everything, Jehan managed a small smile.

Dawn sat alone in the dark, damp, stinking cell. On her way out, she had seen the guards snatch up the guitar and the amplifier, but they had taken her beloved instrument with them. Squishie, she hoped, had escaped. Friends, boyfriends, and others had come and gone, but the dog had been fiercely loyal to her. She couldn't bear the thought of her dog being hurt.

She remembered Claude's face. For a few glorious moments, he'd smiled. He'd warmed to her affections. He seemed on the verge of returning them.

And then Joseph had to go and screw it all up! If she came out of this alive, she'd never forgive that beast of a man. She remembered the horror on his face after her struggle with Joseph. Maybe he thought she killed him.

What if Claude really did think she was a witch or something worse?

The hours ticked away. By the time they came to drag her out of her cell, Dawn had worked herself up into a state of paranoia rivaling that of a hunted animal. They dragged her into the courtroom. The judge was an older man with black eyes. He didn't look the least bit friendly.

He said something to her and she realized that she didn't have her amulet. She couldn't understand him. She had no way to defend herself. She tried to speak to him in English, but it was clear that he didn't understand her, either. Things were rapidly going from bad to worse.

Jehan testified. The couple whose baby she'd saved testified. Phoebus testified, although she wasn't sure if it was bad or good. Just as she was about to give up, Shadow pushed through the crowd. Claude was with him, though still pale and shaky. Shadow seemed to be arguing with the judge very passionately. The judge shouted at him and the guards brandished their weapons. She thought she distinguished the word "blasphemy" at one point, but she wasn't sure.

_Damn it all, why didn't I ask Pierre to teach me more French than just the one song?_ She thought miserably.

The guards hauled her out of her chair. She looked back at Claude, whose face was twisting in pain.

"I love you," she yelled to him, though she wasn't sure he'd understand. The guards thrust her through the door and closed it behind him.

…..

Claude was devastated. They had just sentenced Dawn to torture until they got her confession. Shadow had tried to argue for Dawn on the grounds that she couldn't understand them, but the judge pointed out that her friends had no trouble understanding her. There had been a scuffle outside and the soldiers had found Dawn's amulet.

"What did she say?" he asked wearily.

"She said 'I love you'," Shadow translated.

A tear found its way onto his cheek. Shadow placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of sympathy.

The soldiers outside had wrestled the guitar away from Shadow. Claude and Jehan had the misfortune to watch them destroying it when they went inside. Watching the instrument broken into numerous pieces and burned was heartbreaking—it would have been just as traumatic to watch them take out one of Dawn's internal organs. As he watched the flames eating up what they could burn of the guitar, he felt as though he was witnessing a part of her dying.

…

Dawn was shoved down into a chair. The man who could only be Jacques Charmolue was sitting nearby, a savage smile on his face. He asked her a question, but she didn't understand it. Staring numbly at him, she wished she could figure out what the men around her were saying.

"I can't understand you," she protested, though it was useless in English.

They didn't understand her, either, and took her language gap as defiance. Her foot was thrust into the boot. Charmolue kept repeating the same word over and over when she pleaded with them to stop, but it was as ineffective as not speaking at all. She held out in the hope that Shadow would come to her rescue, but with each agonizing turn, it was clear he wasn't coming.

"J'avoue," one of them repeated over and over in her ear like some twisted incantation. Through the haze of pain, she was slow to comprehend that they wanted _her_ to say it.

"_J'avoue!_" she wailed just as a sickening snap echoed through dungeon.

The iron boot was taken off and Dawn suddenly realized the gravity of what she'd just done. They hauled her out of the chair and dragged her back to the courtroom. Her ankle was broken, probably in several places, and she was unable to put any weight on it. She wanted to see if Claude was around, but the haze of tears was like a curtain of opaque blurriness. She was nauseated from the pain and her foot was already beginning to swell. The judge shouted something at her, but she still did not understand. Shadow pulled her out of her chair to a standing position, supporting her with his arm around her. She didn't need to understand what the judge said to know.

She was going to die.

The guards came to take her to her cell and she didn't fight them. She didn't try to defend herself when they periodically smacked her butt or made other advances on her. Fortunately, they didn't do anything worse and left her alone in her cell. She lay where she'd fallen, her once beautiful dress stained and torn and blood on her face where one of them had hit her. Her one hope was that Claude wasn't in trouble and Squishie was still alive and would be taken care of.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: One of the events in here is a solar eclipse. It may not be historically accurate, but it was necessary for the thing to work. That's what I meant by "the sun turned black".

The worst part was not knowing how they were going to kill her. Part of Dawn refused to give up hope that Claude or Shadow (or anybody for that matter) would come and get her out of the dank, dark cell. She prayed silently, cringing at the sound of rats skittering just inches away.

…

Claude was in shock. He had tried everything he could think of to get Dawn freed, but nothing seemed to be working. He had gone to the bishop and pleaded with him to have Dawn pardoned, but the bishop only became suspicious of how deeply involved they were. Claude tried to go through Parliament next, but it was easier to have someone arrested than it was to get them un-arrested. Desperate, he pleaded to see the king himself, but to no avail. The cardinal was nowhere to be found, either. The situation looked rather bleak.

He dared not sleep. Instead, he kept a vigil in the garden just as Jesus had before his arrest. The priests, Quasimodo, Jehan, and several others from the outside joined him. He was very much surprised to see Pierre and Esmeralda there.

"You would let her die?" Esmeralda asked him sharply.

"No, of course not! I've tried everything I can think of," he lamented, on the verge of tears again, "no one will listen! They won't even let me see her!"

At seeing how upset he was, her expression softened.

"She was the only one who dared tell me the truth," Esmeralda lamented, "though we didn't get along very well, she was a good friend."

Claude didn't answer. He watched her walk away, knowing it was still awkward for her to be in his presence. The awful sense of loss he'd felt for her when he thought she was dead was eclipsed by what he felt for Dawn. He returned to his prayers for a short time until he felt something fuzzy brush against his leg.

Squishie scratched at him. He petted her head and she dropped something on the ground in front of him.

Dawn's amulet.

He looked right, then left. No one was paying attention to him. He fastened the chain around his own neck and the small crucifix glowed brilliantly in the almost non-existent light. Funny…he'd never gotten to study it this closely.

The figure of Jesus seemed to be crying. When Claude saw the tiny face, he felt like crying, too. The viscous, clear fluid flashed different colors and seemed unable to settle on one shade. He remembered vaguely noticing that it changed colors when Dawn wore it as well.

"Claude Frollo, sir, may I have a word with you?"

It was Shadow. Claude was tempted to ignore him. For some irrational reason, he was angry with Shadow.

"How could you let her be sentenced to die? Some guardian you are!" Claude spat at him.

"I will explain a great deal to you if you'll just come with me," Shadow said firmly.

Claude sighed in resignation. They moved to an isolated part of the garden.

"Why are you dressed like that? Aren't you a priest?" Claude asked, seeing Shadow's gypsy garb.

"All is not as it appears," Shadow said.

Claude studied him critically.

"I can see that," Claude snapped, "get to the point! We're wasting time that could be spent in prayer."

"Learning the truth is never a waste of time, Claude."

Claude crossed his arms impatiently.

"We usually make it our business to interfere as little as possible, but I'm afraid we're past the point of no return."

The armored man and the hooded woman appeared out of the shadows.

Claude stared.

"Who are you?" he demanded. The anger was an ill attempt to disguise the growing nervousness in his voice.

Shadow glanced over at his friends. He and the hooded woman pulled their hoods back in unison. There was a blinding flash of light. Claude threw his hand up to shield his eyes. When he looked again, he was sure he was hallucinating.

Shadow no longer had weather-worn, leathery skin. The permanent stubble that seemed to adorn his chin was gone. He wore neither a monk's habit nor a gypsy's garb. Instead, he wore armor that looked as though it had been forged from light rather than metal. His face seemed youthful and never-aging, but his eyes glowed with ancient wisdom. His hair seemed to always be floating as if a wind was blowing it. His hair was a color that Claude had never seen—it was black, but it still had a glow to it.

The armored man had transformed as well. Every mere movement, even his presence radiated power. He, too, held the simultaneous youth and ancient appearance. His hair was snow white, though it did not age him.

The woman did not wear armor. Instead, she wore a flowing gown that swirled faint flashes of color. Her hair was as golden as the rising sun, billowing about her in an otherwordly way.

"We are guardians sent from Heaven by God Himself," the woman said, "I am the Spirit of Mercy and Giving."

"I am Michael," the armored man said.

"I am Gabriel," Shadow announced.

Claude willed himself not to pass out again.

"You three are…_angels?_" he asked incredulously.

"We are," Gabriel said warmly, "and you, Claude Frollo, are about to be rewarded for your unwavering faith and love for God."

He knew he should have been thankful, but the question was too pressing.

"What about Dawn?"

The three shared a conspiratorial grin.

"Don't trouble yourself about that," Mercy told him, "all things are possible through Our Father in Heaven."

Claude swallowed hard.

"She'll be all right, then?"

"Eventually," Gabriel said vaguely.

"What does that mean?" Claude demanded.

"We aren't allowed to tell you," Michael said sympathetically, "but rest assured that she'll be in good hands."

"Is she going to die or not?" Claude demanded.

"You'll find out tomorrow," Gabriel answered.

The three of them disappeared in a shower of sparks. Claude wanted to scream out of frustration. The most wonderful thing had just happened and he couldn't even enjoy it.

…

The thin shafts of sunlight didn't make much of a dent in the darkness. The guards came to get Dawn. Stiff, sore all over, and in considerable pain from her ankle, she wasn't in a state to resist. She had barely slept at all and her eyes were red and puffy from crying and lack of sleep. She was hungry, thirsty, cold, and miserable.

_I guess none of that matters anymore,_ she thought with a sigh. The day was sunny, but it was overcast in places. There seemed to be a rainstorm on the way in.

She expected people to be nasty to her and throw things at her, but they didn't. The crowd actually seemed reluctant to let her go. She couldn't look at them, so she looked up at the sky.

"Where the Hell are you? You said you'd always protect us! Where are you, God?" her voice wailed brokenly. She felt like crying, but she'd stopped producing tears long ago, so it hurt to cry.

It wasn't until the wagon stopped that she realized what they were going to do to her. She had been under the impression that they were going to hang her like they had almost done to Esmeralda.

This was much worse.

There was a stake in the middle of a big, cleared ring where the grass had been pulled up. Piled up around it except for a narrow strip were logs and bits of straw. Dawn's heart began to thunder as they marched her towards the stake. They shoved her back against it and bound her hands. Shaking and trembling, she searched the sea of faces. She couldn't find Claude, Esmeralda, Pierre, or Shadow.

Squishie appeared at the edge of the crowd, whining and barking apprehensively.

"Stay!" Dawn told her firmly. The last thing she wanted was for her dearest companion to be burned to a crisp.

Claude shoved his way through the people, but he couldn't yet see Dawn. The guards filled the gap in around her feet with logs and more straw was thrown on top. The executioner came carrying a lit torch.

Claude finally broke through the sea of faces just as the torch touched the straw. The flames spread quickly in all directions, flaring into a towering inferno. Through the black haze of smoke, he could just make out Dawn, who was coughing and choking on the smoke.

Suddenly, a long and loud trumpet blast drowned out all the noise except for the crackling flames. The sun was blotted out, turning black. The people of Paris gasped in shock, torn between looking at the brilliant blaze and the now black sky. The earth shook and rumbled. A column of water descended out of the sky and snuffed out the flames just as they consumed Dawn. The force of the water was strong enough to knock most of the logs off of the pile. Claude dropped to his knees. Not sure whether to laugh, cry, or thank God for the interference, he did all of those things. He looked up at the sky in wonderment. A faint sliver of sun reappeared and there was a sparkle, as though it were in the shape of a wedding ring. Within a few minutes, the sky gradually lightened and the moon moved away.

Gabriel, Michael, and Mercy appeared. Claude saw the bishop and the cardinal both coming closer. They talked to the judge for a few minutes. Now, in broad daylight again, the executioner cut Dawn's bonds. Unfortunately, she was unconscious and sagged onto the wet ground.

Claude carefully gathered her up. Avoiding the eyes of the two most powerful men in Paris, three if you counted the king's sudden appearance, he ran back into the cathedral where he wouldn't allow anyone to hurt her again.


	25. Chapter 25

The damage was bad, much worse than he feared.

"Help me," he demanded when he saw Jehan, Pierre, and Esmeralda. They stripped the tattered remains of the dress away and tossed it aside. Claude's stomach turned when he saw the scorched flesh on her legs. The burns would heal with time, but they were bad burns…infection was a major concern. There was also the broken ankle to reset. Squishie whined plaintively and Claude placed her on the bed beside her master without a second thought. Esmeralda scrubbed away the traces of the dungeon and the smoke while Claude and Jehan reset her ankle. He was grateful that she wasn't awake to feel that—thankfully, there was no bone protruding. His sensitive fingers caressed the swollen skin to check for any bones that hadn't gotten pushed back into place. Satisfied, they bound the foot into a splint. A familiar figure entered the room. Just as Claude's mouth had opened, the cloaked man held up his hand.

"Shadow, remember?" he asked Claude.

Claude got the hint and nodded.

"I brought something for the burns," he said, handing Claude a small bottle, "make sure you put it on her twice a day until the skin closes."

Claude nodded.

After Dawn was cleaned up and bandaged, she still had not woken up. They all thought it was best to let her rest.

"Is there anything else we can do?" Pierre asked, having bandaged up a minor burn on her left hand.

"Pray," Claude said wearily.

Pierre, Esmeralda, and Jehan simultaneously left the room to give Claude some time alone. The poor man had only just registered how much she meant to him and now she was suffering. The what-if's kept tumbling through his brain. He sat beside her on the bed and took her unburned hand in his.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, "for putting you through all of this. It couldn't have been more obvious…not even the giant wedding band in the sky."

Squishie had stopped pacing the bed and curled up in Claude's lap with a sigh.

"I think we both knew I was living a lie anyway," he lamented, "hardly a day passes anymore when I don't think of you. Hardly a moment, either…"

"I thought I knew what love was," he said brokenly, "and what God was…but love isn't just a word that poets use and God isn't just a reason to do what we do. He's here…right now, right here in this very room. And love…"

He raised her hand until he could press his cheek against it.

"Love is knowing full and well that you can live without someone, but you don't want to. I wish you were awake."

Whether they were joyful tears or sorrowful tears, he did not know. He pressed her hand against his heart, wondering if she was even the slightest bit aware of the rhythmic beats.

"Love is seeking the heart of God and finding you in it…that's what happened," he whispered, "you are my rib, just as Adam's was given to Eve. But I give you more than that if you want…you may have my heart, my trust, my life, my dreams…"

There was a knock at the door. Claude carefully lay Dawn's limp hand at her side and rose to answer it. Much to his shock, the bishop and the cardinal were there.

"Claude Frollo, we wish to have a word with you."

…

Before Dawn opened her eyes, she knew she'd all but been through a war. An involuntary twitch ran through her leg and her jolted ankle smarted painfully. Both legs had been bandaged. She hoped there was no one in the room at the moment—she hated it when people watched her sleep. She couldn't stand to be around anyone except Squishie when she was sleeping. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.

Squishie was curled up beside her in a ball. A black-robed figure lay in a heap at the foot of the bed. There was no one else in the room. Compared to the dungeon cell, this room was very brightly lit. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace. Dawn looked down to see that she'd been dressed in a white novice gown—it was probably all they had around here. She slowly sat up. Thankfully, her legs seemed to be the only things that were injured badly.

From this angle, she could see Claude's face. He was still asleep, his expression peaceful. Dawn inwardly cringed…she hoped she could make it to the bathroom by herself. She hated to wake him up.

Squishie woke up when she felt Dawn move, but Dawn hissed a "stay" command to her. She slid carefully to the floor. However inconvenient it was, she began to crawl towards what passed as a bathroom. Her ankle still didn't like the movement, but at least she could get around this way.

She tried to situate herself back in the bed without moving it around too much. It was a little bit harder than getting down, but she managed it. Content to gaze out the window, she let the sunshine hit her fully in the face. It seemed important to get as much sunlight soaked into herself as possible since that God-awful stay in the dungeon.

She wished she had her sketchbook. It seemed like the perfect time to draw something.

The door creaked open and Jehan poked his head in. He caught sight of her and grinned. Dawn couldn't help but smile back despite the fact that her ankle was bothering her.

"That doesn't look comfortable," Jehan commented, entering the room. He was talking about Claude's awkward position on the bed.

"No, it doesn't," Dawn agreed, "last time I slept like that, I had a knot in my neck for days."

"I suppose it's redundant to ask how you're feeling," Jehan replied.

"I knew I wasn't dead when I woke up because I hurt too much," she answered, "but I guess that's a good thing in this case. I'm glad everyone else is okay. I thought Claude got hurt because he was so pale when they dragged me off."

Her expression darkened when she thought of Joseph.

"Is he still around here?" Dawn asked.

"No. A few of the priests came forward in light of what happened and told the bishop. Joseph won't be allowed within miles of here ever again."

That was a relief.

Claude grunted and stiffly pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Oh, good, you're awake," Jehan said impatiently, "now _tell_ her!"

Claude couldn't suppress his relieved smile when he saw Dawn sitting up. He pulled her into a tight embrace.

"The cardinal himself is visiting Notre Dame," Claude said in her ear, "and he wants to see you."

"When?"

"Well…as soon as you're feeling up to receiving visitors. There are actually a lot of them."

_That_ was unusual.

"Okay."

Dawn's stomach gurgled noisily. Out of reflex, she tightened her abs to try and stifle the noise. She laughed awkwardly.

"Let's think about breakfast first," Jehan told them both, "I don't feel up to receiving visitors if I'm that hungry."

"All right," Claude agreed. He couldn't believe he'd slept in this late.

"I'll go get it," Jehan said pointedly, making a quick exit.

"He's about as subtle as that eclipse we saw," Dawn commented.

"Yes…no wonder the two of you seem to get along so well," Claude answered. A moment of silence passed between them.

"Why does the cardinal want to see me?" Dawn finally asked.

Claude's gaze dropped to Squishie, who was wagging her tail affectionately.

"It's about…us," he said finally, "our…friendship has been brought to his attention."

"How much trouble are we in?" Dawn sighed.

"I don't know," he admitted, "with the events surrounding Joseph and the new evidence that clears your name, it may not be anything to worry about."

He was putting on a brave face, but she could see that he was concerned as well.

"I'm just glad I'm not fried extra crispy," she said, trying to lighten the mood, "just out of curiosity, how did that happen? The last thing I remember was the sky going dark."

"There was an eclipse," Claude told her, "and a waterfall fell out of the sky and put out the fire. They let you go because it frightened them."

He intentionally left the "diamond ring" pattern of the eclipse out. He didn't want to say one way or another until they'd sorted everything out.

"I was afraid you were hurt. You were so pale when they dragged me out," Dawn commented.

"I didn't know what was happening…although Jehan did warn me about Joseph," Claude lamented, "I should have acted sooner."

"Claude, you can't worry about that. None of us knows the future and none of us can read minds."

"You knew the future," he objected.

"No, I didn't," Dawn told him, "I knew the past. That book was your past. It no longer worked when everything changed. I don't even know where it is right now. They probably burned it when they trashed my guitar."

He sighed.

"You're right," he said finally, "it's over."

"So where do we go from here?" Dawn asked.

His hand slid into hers.

"You tell me," he answered.

"What do you mean?"

"I owe you my life. I will go wherever you go."

She was touched by the tenderness in his eyes. He leaned in and kissed her so lightly on the cheek that it made her skin tingle.

_Holy crap! _

She was startled by the sheer amount of electricity in that one little gesture. She'd been kissed before, but even the full tongue-in-mouth-eating-faces kisses didn't make her feel anything like that. It was as if the intensity had been drained right out of her past experiences and focused right here.

The door opened and Jehan struggled his way in with a very big tray. There was more food on there than the three of them could possibly eat, but it would be okay. Squishie would get her fill of the scraps once she returned—she had left a second ago to make a trip outside.

"It's about time you realized that," Jehan said, referring to Claude's vow.

"How long have you been standing there?" Claude admonished him.

"Long enough," Jehan said with a grin, "let's eat!"


	26. Chapter 26

For the most part, Dawn recovered quickly. She still had to walk with a crutch while her ankle finished healing, but the burns had faded. New skin had grown in place of the charred flesh and it no longer stung to have something rub against it. Some days were better than others, but she was determined to get it over with. She was tired of Claude feeling guilty when it wasn't his fault. If anything, she blamed Joseph.

The day came to meet the cardinal. Dawn was dressed in a modest white dress. She sat in one chair and had her injured foot propped up where it wouldn't start aching soon. Her crutch leaned against the wall beside her. Since her hand was still bandaged, Esmeralda braided her hair into a simple style to keep it out of her face. Squishie seemed to sense how important this was; she lay obediently beside Dawn's chair on the rug. She wondered why Claude seemed so nervous. Jehan was grinning from ear to ear, but she was unable to press them for any more information.

The door opened and the cardinal and the bishop both came in. They greeted everyone else first, then came forward to see Dawn. She remembered everything that Claude had taught her, like how to address them and so forth. When she didn't do her usual open-mouth-insert-foot moments, the tension visibly eased from Claude's face.

"I have heard many things about you," the cardinal told her, "some were good, some…not so much. In the eyes of this cathedral, however, you are seen as a hero for shielding our archdeacon from a stabbing."

Dawn did not know how to reply, so she said nothing.

"It was on your bravery alone that the others were willing to stand up for you," he told her, "on the day of your execution, several of the Notre Dame priests came looking for us. When we told them that we were unable to interfere, they protested rather noisily."

Dawn couldn't suppress a smile.

"I had a rather interesting experience shortly afterward," he continued, "I was in my chambers when there was a brilliant flash of light and three apparitions were standing there. Their names were…"

"Gabriel, Michael, and Mercy," Claude put in.

"Yes. And the one called Gabriel insisted that you were not meant to die, that you were a part of God's plan. He carried a trumpet, which he blew three or four times just as the sky went dark. The sun turned black and a column of water poured out of the sky. I didn't see what was down below, but I could guess. By then, I was told you were unconscious and that you could not be blamed for any of the events happening."

He had an almost amused sparkle in his eyes. The man was old, but Dawn could still see the youth that glowed there. His soul hadn't aged…for her, that was a blessing.

"All of us saw the same thing," he said finally, "and we dared not doubt a miracle. On behalf of Notre Dame, Paris, and France, I bring you this pardon for all charges brought against you."

Dawn graciously accepted the document.

"Thank you," she said appreciatively, "I always was scared of fire as a kid…that experience didn't help much."

"I have also heard of your friendship with Dom Claude over the last year."

Uh-oh. This must have been the subject that had Claude so worked up.

"Based on the testimonies of everyone here in this cathedral, the two of you mean a great deal to each other," the cardinal commented.

Dawn decided it was best not to talk unless he asked her a question. She wasn't sure what he was leading up to.

"We've never overstepped our bounds," Claude said nervously.

"I know," the cardinal answered, "I was here several times without your knowledge."

Claude paled.

"Don't look so sick, boy, you have nothing to worry about. I was only going to say that the two of you have my blessing."

"To…" Dawn prompted.

"To marry."

Dawn could have sworn she heard a record scratch in her head. Claude abruptly sat down, dropping into the nearest chair like a stone.

"I want you to promise me that the two of you will be married if your feelings deepen beyond friendship," the cardinal told Claude, "just because we're making a small exception here doesn't mean that we don't still have an example to set."

He took something from his travel pouch and placed it in Claude's hand.

"I'll be praying for your recovery," he remarked to Dawn on his way out.

….

Once again in their earthly disguises, the trio lounged on the sunlit balcony.

"We did it," Michael said, obviously relieved.

"It wasn't easy to talk the bishop and the cardinal both into it," Gabriel remarked, "most of the time I've known them, they're the most stubborn men I've seen here…besides Phoebus, of course."

"So…we're finished here?" Mercy asked.

"Well, they'll always need guardians," Gabriel remarked, "but we won't have to stay here twenty-four hours a day. There are others, after all, who need us the most. Dawn's slowly adapting to life in the Middle Ages, Claude's learned the difference between love and lust, Pierre and Esmeralda are developing a real marriage, and Phoebus is being kept on a tight leash by Fleur. Oh, and Quasimodo has real friendships as well…I don't think I've left anything out."

"What about Esmeralda's mother?"

"That will be revealed in time," Gabriel said, "two or three days, in fact. I just have one last thing to take care of."

He floated off of the balcony to the upstairs bedroom where Dawn was staying. The other two followed him.

"There's the matter of wedding presents," Gabriel said warmly. The air around his hands shimmered for a moment and a guitar appeared. The body of it was crystal clear so that some of the inner workings were visible. The neck was made of a pale wood, almost white. The tuning keys had a pearly sheen to them. The strap was a pale blue. A small box plugged into the hole where the cord to the amplifier normally went.

"This is an amplifier from the far future," Gabriel explained, "it has a nearly inexhaustible power source and it's much less cumbersome than the old amplifier. And watch!"

He drew Michael's sword out of its sheath and rammed it into the guitar. There wasn't even a scratch.

"Indestructible," he said with a mile, "they had to invent these in the future to keep the stage-bangers from destroying thousands of dollars' worth of instruments."

Michael thought for a moment.

"I have an idea!"

Since Dawn was forever bemoaning the lack of coffee, he produced a silver bag.

"It will never run out or spoil," he said as the faint odor of coffee grounds wafted from the bag, "and she'll have it the rest of her life."

"I have two gifts," Mercy said, "the first is related to that bag you gave her. She'll never run out of medicines or healing supplies and people from all over the world to be healed at Notre Dame. The second…"

She produced a black leather-bound sketchbook with three pencils in the front pocket.

"She'll never run out of drawing supplies or paper. Each time a page is ripped out of the book, another one takes its place."

"Well, I guess that's it for now. Let's leave them to their plans and their dreams," Gabriel said, grinning. The three disappeared in a flash of light.

A shimmering note wafted down on the air and came to rest on the bed.

_Dawn,_

_Now that you have found your place in the world, your purpose, and your happiness, I must leave you now in Claude's capable hands. There was never a doubt in my mind that the two of you would make an excellent match. The two of you will need to work together and guide each other through the unknown areas of life. When all else is uncertain, remember this: you must stay as a united front. There are many more trials ahead, but there isn't a doubt in my mind that you'll do wonderfully. You were a wonderful friend to me and I appreciate the trust in me that you held. We will cross paths again someday and I eagerly await the opportunity for you to tell me of all your adventures. Grace be with you._

"_Shadow"._

_**A/N: No, it's not over yet…we still have the wedding, the party, and so forth to look forward to, right?**_


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: It's amazing the things that can be done with that amulet, huh? I had a dream that inspired this chapter…Claude plays Dr. Doolittle for a while.

Claude was concerned. Since the cardinal's visit, Dawn had been unusually quiet. It occurred to him that she hadn't had a chance to express her feelings. Though the cardinal had never said that they _had_ to be married, he had strongly implied it.

He was thinking about that when Jehan found him. Dawn was upstairs taking a nap; she claimed she was absolutely exhausted after they'd sorted through Shadow's gifts. He wondered if she'd ever catch on to who Shadow really was…so, now, he was downstairs wandering aimlessly.

"Did something happen?" Jehan asked, "I thought the two of you would be overjoyed."

Claude shrugged.

"I don't know…I was glad…grateful, actually, but I'm not sure about Dawn. She seems not to share my feelings about it."

Jehan thought for a minute.

"Have you talked to her about it?"

"I tried," Claude answered, "I don't want to push her."

"I'm sure there's a reason," Jehan said, "she probably wouldn't go to all the trouble she did if she didn't love you."

"What else could it be?"

"Well, you might ask her why it bothers her. She seemed happy enough until marriage was mentioned. Maybe someone else soured her on the idea."

Claude nodded thoughtfully.

Squishie came trotting down the stairs. He noticed that she was carrying the amulet in her mouth. Dawn must have taken it off while she was sleeping—sometimes her hair got caught in the clasp.

As strange as it seemed, he had an idea. He took the amulet and fastened it around his own neck.

"What are you doing?" Jehan asked, curious.

"Every time Dawn wears the amulet, she understands any language she hears and she can speak it even if she doesn't know it," Claude told Jehan, "I want to see if the dog remembers anything."

"You're going to have a conversation with a dog?" Jehan asked incredulously, "I would go somewhere else…you don't want the others thinking you've lost your mind."

"Good point," Claude answered. He looked down at the little wheat-colored dog.

"Follow me," he told her.

She trotted along beside him until they came outside to the gardens. No one else was around for the moment…that was a good sign. He came to rest on a stone bench nearby. Squishie bounded up beside him. She tilted her head as if asking him what it was all about.

"You know Dawn better than I do," Claude told her, "can you tell me what's happened to her?"

Squishie didn't seem to get it. He tried again.

"Why is she afraid to marry me?"

The dog's eyes seemed to glaze over as if she was looking past him. Suddenly, an image appeared in Claude's mind. He closed his eyes to block out his surroundings. The image was vague and sketchy…the memories were faint because dogs tend not to remember a lot of details.

_ He was seeing the world from Squishie's point of view. He was in a cage, badly frightened, in a lot of pain, hungry, and weak from the fleas that were literally sucking him dry. A face appeared behind the barred door…a pair of dark eyes. _

_ "I'll take this one," Dawn's voice told the lady. She opened the cage and offered her hand for him to smell. A thousand different things came to mind at once: the food she'd last eaten, her health, where she lived, and…oddly enough…her level of kindness. He allowed her to pet him and he didn't feel so frightened._

_ The memory jumped to being at Dawn's home. It had all sorts of devices there that Claude didn't recognize, but they seemed familiar to Squishie's mind. The smell of coffee was heavy in the air. Dawn sat at her easel, painting. There was a knock on the door. He barked, warning the person on the other side that he was there._

_ "It's all right, Squishie," Dawn told him, patting his head._

_ Then, there was that smell…the smell of deception. The smell of physical arousal. The smell of a man who never kept his promises…he didn't like this man. This man made his master cry before._

_ He crouched low to the ground and growled a warning that he would take a chunk out of the man's leg._

_ "James," Dawn said tenderly, "how'd it go?"_

_ The smell of guilt burned his nose. Dawn sent Squishie a warning look and he slunk away. Why couldn't she understand?_

_ "I'm trying to figure out how to tell her," James said, "she won't let me go."_

_ Dawn sighed._

_ "If you don't take care of it, it's going to get worse," she warned, "you're not doing her any favors. Or me, for that matter."_

_ "I know," James mumbled, "I'm not good at this stuff."_

_ He embraced Dawn and kissed her deeply. The mistrust that boiled up inside Squishie was intense. He couldn't understand why his master would stay with this person. He'd been trying to tell her…_

_ "I was thinking about you all weekend," James sighed, voice thick with lust, "damn, you had me so turned on."_

_ The sharp smell of arousal hit Squishie's nose like a needle. It stunk to her…she didn't understand it, nor did she like it. She had been spayed long ago and thus had never felt it. James led Dawn to the bedroom and she went willingly. Squishie/Claude couldn't see anything that would embarrass Dawn, but it was implied what was going on when the shirt hit the floor._

_ "No," Dawn protested weakly, "I can't, James. Not while she's in the picture."_

_ James grunted._

_ "James," Dawn said a little more sharply, "stop! I don't want her DNA inside me! I can't do it without thinking of her."_

_ "I take showers," James said, obviously annoyed._

_ "That's not the point," Dawn sighed, sounding frustrated, "you're going to rub all over me and touch me and tell me how great I am, then you'll end up going home to her on the weekends. I can't stand that, James. I want to know that I'm the only one."_

_ When James didn't immediately move, Squishie had had enough. He leapt onto the bed, growling and snarling. He jumped at James, trying to get him to get off of Dawn. James smacked Squishie hard enough to send him flying off the bed. _

_ "GET OUT!" Dawn snarled, shoving James away in a surge of strength. _

_ James didn't need another invitation. He left. She knelt down in the floor, half-naked, unfortunately, and cradled the injured Squishie against her bare chest._

_ "Poor baby," she said tearfully, "I'm sorry…I don't blame you for not liking him."_

_ Dawn kissed Squishie tenderly on the head and gently lay her down on the now rumpled bed. She continued to strip clothes off on the way to the bathroom. He heard water running for a long time. Dawn emerged in a fluffy robe, hair still dripping water onto its collar._

_ The memory jumped again to the day that Dawn found out that James was married. Dawn seemed oddly calm about it. She smelled funny…He knew that he shouldn't leave her alone. Every time the look on her face would turn cold and empty, he would do something to get her attention. He didn't understand why his master was sad other than that it had to do with James and something called "marriage". It took his master a very long time to stop crying…too many days to count. She swore to Squishie she would never trust another man with her heart._

Claude opened his eyes and his mind untangled from Squishie's. Part of him was outraged that anyone could treat another human being like that. Part of him was sympathetic…he knew what it was like to want someone and not have them. Part of him was hopeful that he could change Dawn's mind.

"I'm sorry…" he sighed, "…I'm sorry that he hurt both of you so much. I promise that I will never strike you."

Squishie wagged her tail and licked his hand.

"It wouldn't be the same between her and I, you know that, right?"

Another image flashed through his head.

_ He was seeing himself through Squishie's eyes. It was the day that Claude had thought Esmeralda was going to die for his attempt to kill Phoebus…Squishie understood that he was upset, but she thought it was because he was hurt. The smell of blood and adrenaline was overpowering. Squishie watched as Dawn cleaned out the knife wounds and bandaged up his chest. Squishie liked him…she didn't want him to cry and be sad. All wounds would heal eventually, from her point of view. She tried to tell him to cheer up in the only way she knew how, by showing him affection. When he returned it, she was overjoyed. This man was nothing like James, she knew…this man cared about Dawn. _

_ The next image was the day that Claude had gone to the gypsy camp. She smelled Claude long before she saw him—she ran to him, barking to tell Dawn that her friend was here. Dawn was happiest when she was with Claude…the dog could very easily tell that. Dawn came running behind Squishie. Satisfied that she'd done her job, Squishie sat back and watched as they hugged._

"Yes…like that," Claude told her. In a weird way, she seemed to be smiling, though it was more of a feeling than any visible sign. He scratched behind her ears and she tilted her head until he had the right spot. Then, she flopped over on her back, exposing her belly. Claude couldn't help but chuckle; he wished humans were more fond of simple pleasures like dogs were. Sometimes he thought Squishie had more brains than half the people he knew.

"Do you know what love is?" he found himself asking. It would be interesting to get an animal's point of view.

_Squishie bounced around happily when Dawn was playing music at her old home. Dawn scooped Squishie up and began to dance with her. The music was fast…Squishie didn't care that her owner was moving in a funny way—it just meant she was happy. Sometimes she stood on her back legs for a minute and tried to imitate Dawn, which made Dawn laugh._

_ "You silly thing!" _

_ Dawn kissed her on top of the head and hugged her. Squishie's interpretation of the hug was that humans did that to show they would protect each other, keep each other warm, and so that they could feel each other's heartbeats. Humans also hugged animals to show that as well, though not all animals knew about it…sometimes they thought it was a gesture of domination. Squishie and Dawn were the only ones in their pack and Dawn was the leader. She had never neglected Squishie, so Squishie gave her the intense loyalty in return. She trusted Dawn with her life and she would defend Dawn's in any way she could._

Claude smiled.

"I should talk to animals more often," he joked.

"Woof!" Squishie replied.

"Let's go see if Dawn's awake."

They had a lot to sort out, and the sooner, he thought, the better.


	28. Chapter 28

Claude let out an audible sigh of frustration and rested his chin on his hand. He had a huge stack of papers to go through and he couldn't concentrate. He was thinking about Dawn again.

She had been awake long enough to watch from the window. From her room, she could see Claude and Squishie together down in the garden. She'd gone down there and demanded her necklace back. The words, of course, were foreign to him, but she had made her point well enough. She'd been angry at him for nearly two days. Out of his own frustrations, he'd pointed out that she'd had the book that let her see all of his past. Dawn had snatched the amulet out of his hand and stormed off in a huff. After that, she wouldn't speak to him unless she had to. Sure, she was civil and didn't act surly about it, but the iciness in her mannerisms drove him crazy.

He suddenly understood why the vow of chastity was almost always the norm with priests—no matter how hard he tried to forget about it, he couldn't. He hated that they were fighting.

The door creaked open. Vaguely surprised, he looked up. It was Dawn.

"Sorry to bother you…if you're busy, I can come back later," she said quietly.

He motioned for her to sit in the chair across from him. She did.

"I've been thinking about it," she sighed, "and I had no right to be upset with you. I was just mad that you actually got to see all the stupid things I did. I should have just told you myself. I'm sorry I've had such a nasty attitude lately."

His hand came to rest on hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I hate him for what he's done," Dawn sighed, "it's so freaking hard not to compare other guys to him. Just when I think I've actually gotten over it and left it behind, it comes back to haunt me."

Claude was no stranger to that feeling—he still encountered that from time to time. He still thought about things he shouldn't have said and said them anyway. He thought about times he should have spoken up and remained silent. He still blamed himself for Dawn's near-death experience though it hurt considerably less now.

"Do you miss him?" Claude asked quietly.

"No," she was quick to answer.

"Do you still love him?"

"No!" Again, the answer was quick.

His other hand very gently lifted her chin so that she was looking him in the face.

"Then why are you still letting him control you?"

A look of confusion clouded her dark eyes.

"He hasn't even been born yet," she blurted out. Realizing what she'd said, she clamped her hand over her mouth.

"I already know about that," Claude told her, "in one of Squishie's memories, I caught a glimpse of a date. One of them said '2009' and the other said '2010'. She didn't know what it meant, but I did."

Dawn flushed dark red.

"I probably should have told you, but I didn't think you'd believe me," she admitted.

"It actually explained a great deal," he commented, "the way you were dressed when you arrived here, your mannerisms, your music, everything. I knew that your country was different from France, but I didn't know how much of a difference it was—no wonder you seemed a little lost!"

Dawn couldn't help but smile.

"Anyway…my point is that he doesn't exist yet and you're still letting him control you."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he didn't give her a chance.

"That day in the courtroom when you said you loved me—did you mean it?"

"Yes, I did," she said without hesitation.

"Did you believe me when I told you I loved you?"

"Yes."

She knew where it was going now.

"Then why are you still letting him come between us?"

The tinge of hurt in his voice made her stomach hurt and her throat constrict.

"I want so much to tell you that I will not do what James did," Claude said, "but you wouldn't believe me. I can show you, but I need time to do it."

His hand cupped her cheek. The way she leaned into his touch did not go unnoticed. The last time he had ever done that to a woman, it had been Esmeralda and she'd ran away from him. Dawn's skin was soft and warm against his palm. He was leaning in close enough now that she could feel his breath.

"I have no right to ask this," he said humbly, "but can you at least try to trust me?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly. He felt it rather than saw it. A moment of boldness came to him and he retrieved the ring from the desk. He hadn't stopped carrying it around since the cardinal had given it to him.

Tears pricked at Dawn's eyes and she blinked them back when he took her hand. His lips grazed the spot where the ring would rest just before he slid it onto her finger. Who knew that the slide of cold metal against warm skin could be so sensuous? She didn't wear jewelry, period, but the ring seemed to belong there.

"It's about time," Jehan announced.

"How long have you been standing there?" Claude's tone was amusement mixed with annoyance.

"Long enough. I knew you had it in you!" he said proudly. He walked over to Dawn and examined the simple gold band.

"Look at that! It's a perfect fit, too," he commented, twisting it around. It was tight enough not to slide off of Dawn's finger easily, but it wasn't overly tight.

"I could swear that old man knew something we didn't," he remarked, talking about the cardinal.

"As usual, I was the last one to know," Claude said. His turquoise eyes twinkled slightly.

"You do realize that this is going to be all over Paris by sunset, right?" Jehan asked. He dashed out the door. Claude shook his head.

"Well…I hope you're not ashamed of me," he said with a smile, "because he'll do it."

Dawn laughed. How could she be ashamed of him? She thought she had the best man in Paris.

"I feel better knowing that neither of us has any idea of what we're doing," she admitted.

The tension had been broken.

"We'll learn together," he said softly.

A swell of admiration invaded Dawn's mind. She remembered the way he looked when they'd first met and how he'd changed…he'd been scared of everyone and everything. She knew she was changing, too. She was always terrible with change, but she didn't have to dread it. There would be adjustments on both sides.

His heart had only beat twice when she yanked him forward. Surprised, he froze when she kissed him. It was only a peck, but his shocked expression made her face flush brightly.

_Ugh…damn my complexion,_ she lamented, _I hate my cheeks!_

"Lesson one," she said awkwardly. It was his fault for giving her such a sweet smile! He brought it on himself!

Just as she was ready for the floor to open up and swallow her, Claude's hand cupped her cheek. His hand was trembling, but he was ready this time. For a minute, she wondered if she was hallucinating, for his head was inclining towards hers.

_Oh my God…_was the last coherent thought in her mind. How could she have ever assumed that Claude was like James? Unlike James, who was always rough, demanding and always seemed to "attack" her when he kissed, Claude was gentle, questioning. He was willing to let her show him. The result was a slow, sliding exploratory kiss. A very distinct heat that she'd never felt before ached in her middle. An explosion of music flowed through her soul and her mind, a tune she'd never heard before. Her nerves were standing on end and she shook so hard that she felt as though she would rattle apart any second.

The door started to open a second time and they jerked apart like two teenagers that got walked in on. One of the priests stared awkwardly at them for a second.

"I'll come by later," he said awkwardly, rushing away.

Dawn and Claude glanced at each other and burst into fits of laughter. She gave him a quick hug and left so that the other priest could talk without feeling weird. She ran all the way to her room, seized the sketchbook, and began to write chords and lyrics with a shaky hand. This would be her wedding present to Claude.


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: At last! The wedding! The lyrics are from "It is you" by Dana Glover. Wedding night takes place after the dotted line—you have been warned.

The day of the wedding was sunny, though it was terribly cold. What had originally been intended as a small wedding had somehow turned into a huge event—it seemed that all of Paris was crammed into the sanctuary of the cathedral. People were standing around in clumps at the back once all the pews had been taken. Djali had been bathed and brushed until she was as clean as freshly fallen snow. All of Dawn's close friends were in the wedding party. The priests were a little wary about the gypsies being in the cathedral after the last incident, but Dawn assured them that they weren't there to cause trouble.

It was so easy to pretend to be calm when she was shaking like a leaf inside.

Dawn never understood why it was that fairy-tales didn't go past the wedding. It almost always ended with "and they got married and lived happily ever after". What happened after that? Did they leave that out because it was easier not to focus on the things that couples had to work through? Or were all those couples lucky enough not to face any serious challenges? She pressed a hand to her forehead to try and stop all the thoughts from coming. She desperately needed a moment alone, but it wasn't an option. It would be time to start soon. Drawing a deep breath, she prayed to God that the sweating, the dry throat, the nerves, and the clumsiness would all go away. Squishie pawed at Dawn's leg, her tail wagging reassuringly. Dawn smiled and scratched her behind the ears. The dog's big, dark eyes gazed up at her master. She seemed to sense that something important was about to happen.

"Do you know that Claude's going to be your master, too?" Dawn asked her.

An image formed in Dawn's mind, one where Claude had been petting Squishie. She had already answered to him when he spoke to her. It seemed that Squishie was making the adjustment faster than she was. Dawn scooped her up and kissed her on the head.

"I wish it were that easy," she sighed, wondering what in the world she'd gotten herself into. A thousand little irritating anxieties played in her mind, but she pushed them back. Would Claude actually have a meltdown if she hogged all the covers? Probably not…they had plenty of time to get used to each other.

Dawn realized with a jolt that she had to move. She would be late for her own wedding if she didn't hurry up. She set Squishie down, grabbed her candle (since there were no flowers) and rushed to join the others. Squishie trotted along beside Dawn, a white ribbon taking the place of her collar for today. Pierre and Esmeralda would take Squishie for the night. Squishie liked Djali and got along well with her.

Dawn's stomach tightened. She wasn't quite ready to think about tonight yet…

They emerged into the sanctuary. The bishop would be the one to give her away since the cardinal was going to marry them. Dawn's stomach twisted as people looked up at her. She wanted to hide her face, which was now burning as much as the candle in her hand. She wanted to shrink back under the yards of white and gold material so that all these people would quit looking at her. Oh, how she missed her guitar…it was the only way she could handle this much attention.

The bishop smiled. His expression was reassuring, just as Dawn's own father's would have been if he were here. It was strange that Dawn would feel such a pang of loneliness. She'd cried last night because she missed her parents and knew she'd never see them again. Funny how she'd never thought of that until now…

Dawn cleared her throat quietly to ward off the tears that threatened to come. She didn't want to cry…now was not the time.

Her eyes fell on Claude's and they locked gazes. She'd always thought he had beautiful eyes, but it was as though she truly saw them for the first time. Blue, green, and a tiny bit of gray…

He was nervous, too. She could feel Claude's hands shake as the bishop placed her hands in his. It was a wonder they managed to say their vows. Dawn was surprised how clear her voice sounded even though she felt like she was choking.

The veil was lifted and the rush of cold air on her face was a welcoming sensation. Mindful of where they were at and who they were in front of, Claude's kiss was controlled and brief. She sensed his reluctance to pull away and a knowing smile flickered across her features. They could make up for it later.

A thunderous noise came from the crowd. It was over. She was now Dawn Frollo, wife of the archdeacon. He led her down the aisle. There were guests to see, presents to collect, and a very big dinner to eat. She didn't realize how hungry she was until she smelled the food. The prayer of Grace was longer than usual and she had to squeeze her abdomen muscles in to muffle the growling of her stomach. Their guests and Claude must have felt the same way, for no one talked for several minutes. She felt better instantly as the lightheadedness began to lift and the shakiness subsided. Hot tea warmed her from the inside out and the food was heavenly. She didn't recognize most of the dishes, but she didn't mind.

The party went on for a long time. Both husband and wife received all of their guests graciously and thanked them for coming. Claude's thumb was tracing impatient circles on the back of Dawn's hand—he wasn't used to this kind of attention, either. They hadn't had much time alone, as someone always wanted something from Claude. Dawn wondered if that had contributed partly to the feeling of having rushed into the wedding. They seemed to not have had time to get used to being in love and the idea of spending the rest of their lives with the other one.

She mentally shook herself. She should stop thinking and just enjoy it. There would be time to analyze things to death later.

"Are you going to give Claude his present?" Lucie hissed in her ear.

"The guitar," Dawn mouthed. Someone retrieved it for her as Lucie whistled loudly enough to shut everyone up.

"The bride has a present to give to her husband," she said sweetly. Dawn turned her chair so that she was facing Claude.

"_There is something that I see_

_In the way you look at me_

_There's a smile, there's a truth_

_In your eyes…_

_What an unexpected way_

_On this unexpected day,_

_Could it be this is where I belong?_

_It is you I have loved all along…_

_There's no more mystery,_

_It is finally clear to me_

_You're the home I've searched for_

_So long…_

_It is you I have loved all along…_

_There were times I ran to hide_

_Afraid to show the other side_

_Alone in the night without you_

_But now I know just who you are_

_And I know you hold my heart_

_Finally, this is where I belong…_

_It is you I have loved along…_

_There's no more mystery,_

_It is finally clear to me,_

_You're the home I've searched for_

_So long…_

_It is you I have loved all along…_

The setting on the guitar made it sound ethereal and otherworldly, almost like echoing bells. There was thunderous applause from the remaining guests. The expression on Claude's face made her smile even bigger—it was as if he had gone into a trance. He'd get used to her writing songs for him soon enough, she supposed. She would fill this cathedral with music for him.

At last, the guests were gone. It was getting late when they saw the last one out the door. Pierre, Esmeralda, Djali, and Squishie had gone. The other priests had conspicuously cleared out. The doors to the cathedral had been closed on the grounds that it was too cold to leave them open.

They were alone. Wordlessly, they retreated upstairs. The narrow bed in Claude's cell had been replaced with one big enough for both of them. There were a lot of windows here so that the place got plenty of light. Soft moonlight poured through the glass. They were up high enough that no one could see in. Dawn's things had been moved into Claude's room this morning. She played elaborate little riffs with the guitar while he lit a few candles. Funny…candles had been associated with romance in her time, but they were an absolute necessity here.

"I'm not used to having songs written for me," Claude remarked.

"You will be," she answered.

He sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. Dawn had butterflies shooting cannons at each other in her belly. Neither of them really knew what to say. Dawn suddenly began to laugh—she usually did when the tension got too great.

"What?" Claude asked, confused.

"You were holding out on me earlier," she playfully scolded him, "it was our first kiss as a married couple and I know you can do better."

He caught on quickly and took the guitar out of her hands. She looked surprised as he set it back in the case.

"Maybe," he answered, returning to his place beside her, "but I was afraid I'd forget where I was and that others were watching."

….

She was dizzy and breathless after he kissed her this time. The last coherent thought was that he was a surprisingly fast learner. They had only kissed a few times since their engagement, but each had been better than the last. No longer afraid that someone would see them, the raw passion began to displace the caution. She slid into his lap, which made him stop in surprise for a moment. This new level of closeness both scared and excited him. He could feel the heat from her skin radiating through the dress. It took both of them to get it off, but the white and gold fabric finally slid away. A rush of self-consciousness tore at Dawn's mind, but she roughly shoved it away. Claude averted his gaze out of habit, but she gently turned his head back towards her. This was the point of no return.

"Look at me, Claude," she said huskily. He did—and he couldn't look away.

So what if she was chubby? So what? Claude couldn't make it any clearer that he loved her. The last of her demons from the past was chased away rapidly by his look of admiration.

It was adorable how self-conscious he was. She refused to let him retreat under the covers just yet—he was just as much hers as she was his. He had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Though his frame was thin and he was smaller-boned than she was, he was all lean muscle. From both an artist's and a lover's point of view, she appreciated him. She ran her hands down his back. He was warm and solid in her arms. Reality, for once, was far better than fiction. His cautious hands grazed down her back as well. He didn't want to move too fast for her sake, but her touch told him she was getting impatient. She shifted them both around so that they could connect.

Just when he thought it couldn't get any better, it did. The feeling was so intense, both physically and emotionally, that he felt his soul almost separate from his body. His vision blurred and he almost blacked out. He was vaguely aware of Dawn's limbs tightening around him possessively. He felt his bones and muscles turning to water. She rubbed his back and his bottom and peppered his face with kisses.

It was as though a dam had burst. Gone were the constant naggings of temptation from his mind, gone were the depressive tendencies to hate himself for what he felt. Instead, there was only a soft calmness. The towering inferno in his gut had subsided to a tiny candle flame. The overwhelming desire to sleep tugged at his mind. He settled in next to Dawn and wondered why he hadn't asked her to marry him earlier. He opened his eyes long enough to see if she regretted choosing him. She didn't.

Dawn gazed at the man in her arms as her heartbeat slowly returned to normal. Her other senses (besides touch) were gradually clearing up. She ran her fingers through Claude's ash-blonde hair, which made him sleepier. His skin glowed with a soft sheen of sweat. When he opened his eyes, they were glazed with disbelief and spent desire. God, he was beautiful…she'd always thought he was good-looking, but it was different now that he was hers. He had actually said she was beautiful at some point…she'd lost track of when. It was different now than when James had said it—she believed Claude without the shadows of doubt she'd felt with James. As she shifted closer to Claude, she imagined herself throwing James through an open door, slamming the door, then locking it and tossing the key into a storm drain. James was gone for good and he could never bother her again.


	30. Chapter 30

Dawn awoke to the sound of splashing and someone singing in Latin. Disoriented, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. The door to the adjoining washroom was ajar. She quickly remembered the events of yesterday and smiled. Wrapping herself up in one of the blankets, she crossed the room and nudged the door open a little further.

Claude was there taking a bath. Heat pooled in her stomach as she watched him. She was stunned to hear his singing voice for the first time; how did she not know that he could sing this well? It shouldn't have surprised her since his speaking voice was melodic to her as well. It was as easy on her ears as cool water is to a thirsty person's throat. She recognized the particular song he was singing as based on one of the Psalms; it roughly translated to a song of thanksgiving to God. His wet hair had taken on a coppery shine in the dim, silvery winter light. Beads of water trickled down his fair skin. He looked more like a work of art to her than a mere man.

Claude sensed her presence and turned his head to look at her. His ocean-colored eyes shone softly in recognition.

"Where did that come from?" Dawn blurted awkwardly.

"What?"

"You didn't tell me that you could sing like that," she said accusingly.

"You never asked."

His tone was playful. Freezing air aside, she carelessly let the blanket fall and came closer to him.

"Well, shame on you for not telling me!"

She kissed him affectionately. His hand left a damp spot on her cheek when it cupped her face. She felt his pulse quicken and hers did as well.

"Forgive me?"

His smile made her heart melt. Dawn sighed.

"All right…"

_Good Lord, if we have a kid with eyes like that, I'm screwed…_she thought. He rose out of the tub and she retrieved a towel for him.

"There's more hot water for you," he explained, "I have some things to attend to, unfortunately, but I'll be back later. There's no rush to be ready."

He had only been given one day off for the marriage, but he didn't want Dawn to feel rushed as well. Things had changed extremely quickly for both of them and they both had a lot to get used to.

"I wish they gave you more than one day," Dawn lamented.

He didn't want to dismiss the generosity of others for even that one day, so he didn't comment. He felt the same way, but he didn't want to be ungracious for such a big favor.

"We'll have more time together later," he told her, "besides, Squishie will be back to keep you company."

Dawn chuckled.

"I hope she's not as jealous with you as she was with James. We'll never get a minute of peace."

Claude finished drying off and ran a comb through his hair. Out of habit, he dressed quickly to ward off the winter chill. He only had a few minutes to get downstairs before the service started.

It was going to be hard to leave her. He could feel it already; it was as though an invisible cord connected them. It was as though an invisible vessel had grown between their two beating hearts overnight and they would have to stretch it out farther to do anything without the other one. With a bittersweet sigh, he took her into his arms again. The contrast was somewhat awkward to say the least; she was still completely unclothed and he was fully dressed. Already, his body wanted to respond. He shoved the urge away and gave her a kiss.

"You know where I am if you need anything," he reminded her sweetly, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

It took her a second to release her hold on him. She watched him close the door behind him and a strange sense of loss haunted her.

_What on earth has gotten into me?_ Dawn wondered. She'd only spent one night with him and now she felt unable to be without him. No wonder her pastor had felt so strongly on the "no sex until after marriage" thing. She couldn't speak for other girls, but she was suddenly glad that she'd waited.

She sank into the tub and enjoyed the warm water. Claude's clean scent still lingered in the air and she inhaled deeply. She wanted to laugh at herself for doing so. After she'd washed up and gotten dress, she made an appearance downstairs.

Now that she was married to Claude, the cook didn't seem so eager to heckle her about walking into the kitchen. She didn't make a fuss as Dawn made her coffee and sat down at a nearby table to eat a few cooling remains of breakfast. After tucking away some scraps for Squishie, Dawn headed for the sanctuary.

Pierre and Esmeralda weren't due to be here until after the service was over. She sat unobtrusively on one edge of the room with her sketchbook. Claude hadn't had any coffee to her knowledge, but he was very animated this morning. She paid plenty of attention as he talked and a very flattering drawing of him appeared on her page.

Claude struck her as very insightful and as a very introspective person. Most of the time, he would start out addressing the congregation, then end up sounding as though he were voicing an internal dialogue either with himself or God. Dawn liked hearing how his mind worked in this manner. Some wanted to hear what he had to say, but others were only there because they felt obligated to be and they slumped with bored expressions.

Today, however, there was a tangible shift. People leaned forward, she noticed, and no one around her had a dead, glazed expression. Claude's energy was contagious. Though he didn't single out any one person or group, he was still actively engaging his audience. The inner psychologist that Dawn had once been trying to cultivate was very attuned to the interaction. She was proud of him. Near the end, he finally realized she was there. The warmth in his expression intoxicated her.

There was a very tangible vibration in Dawn's soul. With a jolt, she realized something. She had always loved Claude, but now, she was _in love_ with him as well. It didn't hurt and she wasn't terrified anymore. It felt strange and chaotic, but she found herself wanting and willing to embrace the chaos. A few people turned their heads to see who had captured the archdeacon's attention and a few smiled.

Once everyone had been dismissed, Dawn remained where she was to finish the drawing. She felt Claude sit down beside her. He had seen a few of her drawings of him but was not yet used to the idea.

"That's really how you see me?" he asked.

"That's how I really see you," she answered, letting him take the book.

"I look so young…" he commented.

"You look happy," she corrected him.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment.

"You moved people today," she commented, "a lot of them walked out of here with something to chew on."

"They all seemed to be awake today," he agreed, "I can only hope that it was God and not anything that I did."

Dawn rested her head against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her.

"It's like this place has a life of its own," she remarked, "and it just took a big breath in today."

_Yes, ever the poet, aren't you?_ He thought.

"One of these days, we're going to have to sing together," she commented, "I'm curious how we'd sound."

A familiar, noisy bark echoed through the cavernous space. Dawn turned to see a wheat-colored blur racing towards her.

"Squishie!" she called in a high-pitched tone.

"Arrooroorooroo!" the dog answered in her sing-song bark. She scooped the squirming little ball of hair up and kissed her on top of the head. She quite literally had to peel Squishie off of her face. Squishie noticed Claude and he had difficulty keeping her out of his face as well.

"I think she's trying to lick us to death," Dawn laughed, "she acts like it's been a year!"

Squishie gave up trying to wash their faces and ran around in big circles. The other priests that were around chuckled at the hyperactive little dog. Squishie tired herself out so quickly that she simply flopped over and panted. Claude laughed, amused at her.

"The day she can't run is the day she'll die of a broken heart," Dawn informed him.

"She had fun chasing Djali around," Pierre informed her, "though Djali got tired of it after a while."

"She makes me want to take a nap just watching her sometimes," Dawn laughed.

"We had to put her on the end of our bed because she wouldn't stop whining," Esmeralda told her, "we wouldn't have gotten any sleep otherwise."

"I really do appreciate it," Dawn thanked them, "we haven't been apart very much."

Claude remembered Dawn's near-execution much too vividly. Though he hadn't slept that night, Squishie had sought comfort in his arms when she couldn't find her master. The dog's affection and sympathy had offered him a tiny bit of solace during an otherwise hopeless time.

"Clopin wonders when you'll be back," Esmeralda commented.

Dawn shrugged. She sent a questioning look sideways to Claude. It was obvious that she was wondering whether he would make her stop performing or not. On one hand, she was now a priest's wife and consequently had an image to keep up. On the other, he had not married her for that image; he had married her because she was the way she was. He hated the idea of changing her any more than necessary.

"It's up to you," he said simply. Her hand squeezed his in gratitude. Though she would probably be criticized for the company she kept, things had changed. It was no longer unheard of for the gypsies to come here and he had visited the gypsy camp on several occasions this last year. In a moment of unusual wisdom, Dawn had mentioned Jesus's words of sick people needing doctors, not well ones. He'd known he loved her already, but he loved her more after she'd said that.

"Great! It probably won't be while the snow's coming down like curtains," Dawn commented, "maybe on a clear day or when it lets up a little bit. My fingers get cold and I can't play as good."

"We have to get going," Pierre said, "but we had a favor to ask before we go."

Both Claude and Dawn were waiting to hear.

"Would you do us the honor of making our marriage an official one?"

Dawn let out an excited shriek and pounced on both of them, hugging them so tightly that they winced a little. Claude grinned.

"I would be happy to. You have only to set your time," he told them.

"Thank you, Your Excellency."

Dawn's coffee-high was beginning to set in.

"Well don't just sit there! We have a wedding to plan!" she said impatiently.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: The lyrics from the first song are "You Raise Me Up" by Josh Groban, the second one is "I'll Cover You" from Rent.

Christmas Day came to Paris. More snow had fallen that night, but the sun rose in the cold, clear sky. Dawn woke before Claude did to see the soft golden light pouring into the room. She smiled at the sleeping man beside her and brushed a stray strand of dark blonde hair from his face. The sun was bringing out the rich reddish tint to it. She pressed her lips to his. After a minute, he began to respond.

"Mmmm," he mumbled, still somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. She was glad that he didn't appear to notice that she usually had the worst case of morning breath of anyone she knew. He pulled her closer to him. Oh, yes…this was a nice way to start the day.

"Do you remember what day it is?" he asked between kisses.

"Christmas," Dawn responded mischievously, "and I _got_ what _I_ wanted."

Nearly an hour later, they were both bathed and dressed. Squishie was in no hurry to leave her warm spot near the fire. She lethargically dragged herself up to follow Dawn, only becoming hyper again when Dawn let her outside. Once she was ready to come back in, Dawn headed for the kitchen.

She clutched her steaming mug of coffee with one hand and carried a cup for Claude in the other hand. Some of the other priests were clearing some of the snow off of Notre Dame's steps. Dawn handed Claude his cup, which he gratefully accepted. He noticed that her guitar was on her back. They would probably start the service a little bit late just to allow people more time to get here. Glad that she wasn't anywhere but here, Dawn sat in one of the front pews and began to play her guitar. Claude recognized the tune as one she'd played often though she hadn't written the song.

"When I am down

And O my soul's so weary…

When troubles come

And my heart burdens me…

Then I am still

And wait for you in silence

Until you come and

Sit a while with me…"

He had once asked her if she knew any songs about God and she claimed she knew a bunch of them from sometimes playing in the church band. He had developed a fondness for this song and she'd taught him the words. His clear tenor echoed through the sanctuary, supported by the soft, tinkling sound effect on Dawn's guitar.

"You raise me up

So I can stand on mountains

You raise me up

To walk on stormy seas…

I am strong when I am on your shoulders…

You raise me up

To more than I can be…"

Dawn clicked a button on the small box and the guitar changed tones to where it sounded like her old guitar. They sang the second verse together, her voice a third above his.

"There is no life

No life without it's hunger

Each restless heart

Beats so imperfectly…

But when you come

And I am filled with wonder,

Sometimes I think

I glimpse eternity….

You raise me up

So I can stand on mountains

You raise me up

To walk on stormy seas…

I am strong when I am on your shoulders…

You raise me up

To more than I can be…"

The two of them were so into what they were doing that neither of them noticed the people coming in. Despite the chill, the doors to the cathedral were wide open and people poured in, filled with the spirit of the day and ready to receive more. Upon hearing the archdeacon and his wife singing, the room was filled with curious listeners. One set of ears belonged to the bishop, who had dropped in on a surprise visit to see how Notre Dame was doing. The mix of alto and tenor greatly pleased him. He had heard the girl sing before, but he had never heard them together. In fact, it was the first time Dawn herself could recall them having a duet. Her amulet was a bright, happy, sky-blue today. They repeated the chorus a couple more times and were vaguely surprised to hear others around them. Sheepishly, Dawn plucked the last note and allowed it to linger on the air before placing her guitar back in the case and trying to become less conspicuous. The crowd, however, made it clear that they enjoyed the unusual music.

Dawn could tell that Claude's spirits were high. The other songs were in Latin; though she didn't know all of the words, she picked up the patterns quickly and sometimes added chords. Claude talked about Mary, Joseph, and Jesus, and why it was important to remember God's gift to the world; the first Christmas gift, in fact. His analogy warmed everyone's hearts and there was a lot of laughter and talking as the crowd streamed out of the cathedral to celebrate.

"Hey, kid!" Dawn greeted her namesake. Aurora was nearly three now and was a happy, bouncy little girl. She swung her up into the air and made her shriek with laughter. Marguerite smiled warmly.

"She absolutely loves the sled you got her," Marguerite informed her, "she wanted to bring it to Mass."

Dawn chuckled. She could remember wanting to do the same thing when she had a pink Barbie toy jeep as a kid.

"Well, I'm glad you're having fun with it," she told Aurora.

"What do you say, Aurora?"

"Thank you!"

She kissed Dawn noisily on the cheek. Dawn set her down so that she could play with Squishie.

"It was a nice wedding," Marguerite remarked, "are there any little ones on the way?"

Dawn's cheeks flushed brightly.

"I wouldn't know," she said quietly so that Claude wouldn't hear, "it's too soon to tell."

"You're probably right—what was I thinking? I imagine God will provide one soon enough," Marguerite laughed.

Then, Dawn saw someone that she really wasn't sure she wanted to see. Phoebus and Fleur approached them. Clearly, things were going well enough—Fleur's very rounded belly was the evidence. She looked like she was due any day now.

"Still associating with gypsies, I see," Fleur said disapprovingly. She had noticed Pierre and Esmeralda nearby.

"Yep. God loves all kinds," Dawn said, deciding not to add _even you_ to the mix. She reminded herself that Fleur had grown up around snobs all of her life and didn't know any better.

"Marrying a preacher, though…that's quite a surprise," Phoebus remarked.

_The fact that you are still alive and some other guy hasn't castrated you is a surprise to me,_ Dawn thought. Instead, she smiled knowingly at Claude, who returned it with one of his own. He was talking to a couple of other congregation members.

"You're actually in love with him? You didn't just marry him because he saved your life?"

Squishie growled, but a Look from Dawn silenced her. She could smell her owner's displeasure.

"That's right," Dawn said warmly, "we chose each other and that's the best part."

Her tone suggested that Fleur and Phoebus had not been given much choice in the matter. Seeing that they couldn't rub anything in, they left. Though Dawn was irritated with them, she was proud of herself for handling the situation with such grace. Seeing that "Doofus" and "Doofette" were gone, Esmeralda and Pierre came to talk to Dawn and Marguerite.

"I don't know what gets into that boy," Marguerite mumbled, talking about Phoebus.

"He always wants what he shouldn't have," Dawn answered, "they're just ignorant…they grew up around it."

"I feel sorry for their child," Esmeralda commented.

Her feelings for Phoebus had rapidly cooled after Dawn, Claude, and Pierre had helped her escape the cathedral and saved her life. She had started to grow up and leave her childish narcissism brought on by age behind. Her feelings for Pierre had started to progress from annoyance to appreciation to friendship. Finally, they had moved into the territory of love. It didn't escape Dawn's notice that they were holding hands and they seemed far more affectionate to each other than they had once been.

"I do, too," Dawn answered, "can you imagine growing up in a household like that?"

Since she had patched up Phoebus's back after Claude stabbed him, Fleur and Phoebus didn't dare openly snub her. Their snubbing was covert and very subtle. Dawn was just glad that she hadn't had time to think (or convince Fleur she was better off without him).

"The baby's first words will be 'ugh…commoners'," Marguerite chuckled.

"You're probably right," Dawn agreed.

Claude approached the group to see what they were all laughing at. Phoebus rarely attended Mass, so he was usually spared the discomfort of being around a man he'd nearly killed. He hoped Dawn understood why he'd kept his distance earlier.

"We're just talking about the misfortune of not being able to pick one's parents," Dawn explained to him, "I think that kid's due any day now. If Fleur gets any bigger, they'll have to roll her from place to place."

Fleur's very petite and slender figure had been dominated by the pregnancy. It was surely going to be a big baby.

"I will keep them in my prayers," Claude said, "and the child, too. For obvious reasons…."

The group dissolved into laughter again.

Dawn distributed the Christmas gifts to everyone. Jehan was showing very promising skills as a writer and greatly appreciated the leather-bound book with blank pages for his stories.

"Now, there's only one thing left for you to do," he told her.

"What?" Dawn asked. The service was over, she'd handed out gifts…there was nothing she could think of that she'd forgotten.

"You have to go out there and play for us," he announced.

Dawn shrugged and retrieved the guitar. Taking up residence in their usual spot, the other gypsies that she sometimes played with gathered up their instruments and joined her.

"You guys get the first song, though…the one we've been working on," she informed Pierre and Esmeralda. Claude stood at the edge of the crowd, as he did not consider himself a performer. One singer in the family was enough in his opinion. Above them, Quasimodo was watching and the small bells chimed. Pierre and Esmeralda actually made a good duet and the crowd was enjoying them:

(Esmeralda sang)

"Live in my house,

I'll be your shelter,

Just pay me back

With ten-thousand kisses,

Be my lover,

And I'll cover you…"

(Pierre sang)

"Open your door,

I'll be your tenant,

Don't have much baggage

To lay at your feet,

But sweet kisses I've got to spare,

I'll be there

And I'll cover you…"

(Both)

I think they meant it

When they said you can't buy love

Now I know you can rent it

A new lease you are, my love

On life…

Be my life…

Just put me on,

I'll be your blanket,

Whenever, wherever,

I'll be your coat,

(Esmeralda sang)

You be my king,

And I'll be your castle,

(Pierre sang)

You be my queen

And I'll be your moat"

None of them noticed the trio at the edge of the crowd, who were merely there to enjoy the show. They also didn't notice Fleur, who was watching from a balcony.

"Ridiculous peasants," she mumbled, unconsciously placing a hand over her belly. She felt the baby move under her hand. She told herself that they were silly and primitive.

She wondered why they were so happy and seemed so in love when most of them didn't have two sous to rub together. She and Phoebus were rich, and yet they shared none of the obvious intimacy that the others did. She longed for Phoebus to look at her the way that Claude looked at Dawn or the way that Pierre looked at Esmeralda.

"I've longed to discover

Something so true as this is,

With a thousand sweet kisses (if you're cold and you're lonely)

With a thousand sweet kisses (You've got one nickel only)

With a thousand sweet kisses (You're worn out and tired)

With a thousand sweet kisses (Your heart has expired)

Oh, lover, I'll cover you!"

Applause rang out all around them. They played a few more, most of them Christmas songs. Eventually, Dawn had to quit because her fingers were getting stiff. She took the guitar inside and retrieved her gloves. It was perfect weather for a snowball fight…

She grinned. She had a few "victims" in mind already.


	32. Chapter 32

"How did I let you talk me into this?" Claude panted.

"It's the big, dark eyes," Dawn answered. She flung a snowball at him. He fake-pouted.

"I'm your husband, remember!" he yelped.

"Yes…and all's fair in love and war."

Poof! Another snowball exploded in his face. He chased after her. Snowballs were flying thickly through the air and adults and children alike were involved. Some of the priests from Notre Dame had even joined in. Claude couldn't help but smile—before Dawn had come along, a bunch of priests playing in the snow was unthinkable. Quasimodo had been allowed to join in the fun as well. Claude couldn't remember when he'd had so much fun.

"Now I've got you," Claude said, pouncing on Dawn and knocking her forward. She grabbed a handful of snow and rubbed it in his face.

"Why is it that women never fight fair?" Pierre wondered out loud just before Esmeralda pelted him. Djali bleated and ran for the safety of the cathedral steps. Claude had almost managed to pin Dawn when she poked him in the ribs. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but she discovered that he was ticklish there. Grinning mischievously, Dawn scrambled out of his grip and managed to pin him down.

"All right, all right!" he gasped in surrender. Dawn kissed him on the forehead and released him. She dashed away and began to form another snowball. Claude went to make one of his own. She hurled it at him and he ducked. Unfortunately, the snowball found another target.

Everyone went dead quiet and still as the bishop wiped the invading snow off of his face. Embarrassed, Dawn could only laugh.

"Sorry! I was aiming at _him,_" she said, gesturing to Claude. The crowd parted as the bishop came closer.

"Under normal circumstances, I would remind you to act like the grown and married woman that you are," he said sternly, "but since you seem to have inspired the priests of Notre Dame to get more involved with their flock, I have no choice but to forgive you."

It was then that he smiled and his eyes twinkled. A collective sigh of relief passed through the crowd. Then…

"GET HIM!" Dawn yelled. Snowballs flew through the air again. The old man could move pretty quickly considering his age.

Christmas dinner was served and everyone shook the snow out of their clothes and went home to eat. The smell of various roasting meats filled the air. Everyone was ravenously hungry from the exercise and rosy-cheeked. Dawn and Claude sat beside each other with their steaming mugs of tea and ate their fill. Though the priests usually had a relatively conservative diet, the cook couldn't help but indulge them a little on this holiday of generosity and giving. A nice little assortment of pastries had been set out. Claude ate a few more than he probably should have. The sugar rapidly re-energized him and he could hardly sit still. The two of them had their own snowball fight out in the garden with Squishie pouncing on them every five seconds.

For Quasimodo, Claude and Dawn had successfully hidden a puppy in one of the rooms that wasn't used very much. Quasimodo had named him Michael after the archangel. Michael was bounding around behind him, hyper and energetic as he was. Squishie hadn't been fond of Michael, but she'd warmed up to him when Dawn explained that Michael was Quasimodo's dog. Squishie had been spayed back at home, so she would never have puppies and had no reason to be maternal.

Dawn flopped on her back and fanned her arms and legs out to make a snow angel. During Christmas dinner, the skies had begun to cloud over and small flakes were beginning to fall. Dusk was rapidly approaching. Her first Christmas as a wife was soon to be over. There would be another service this evening.

Claude brushed the snow off of her and they went inside to change out of their wet clothes. They were warm all over and breathless from laughter. Claude felt younger and happier than he had in years. Why had he objected to being in love so much? So far, nothing but could had come from his acceptance of it.

"I must admit I wasn't sure about all this," he confessed to her as they got changed, "but once again, you've shown me that I was right in following my heart."

"You should listen to it more often," Dawn told him, "you have a big one."

He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly.

"My view of the world was very negative until you came along," he sighed, "and I thought I would spend my entire life here waiting for the next one…"

Sensing that one of his moments of revelation was coming, she rubbed her cheek against his.

"And I realized that God is all around us and not just in this cathedral…I forget that more often than I remember."

She kissed his ear, sending a pleasant tingle down his spine.

"That's very insightful," she commented, "you should talk about that tonight."

"I will."

He closed his eyes, relishing the warm solidness of her in his arms.

"I love you, Dawn."

"I love you, too."

She kissed him so intensely that he thought he would melt. She felt his knees buckle and heat flooded her stomach. Understandably, he pulled away and took a couple of breaths to steady himself.

"We should get downstairs now," he said shakily, "or we'll never make it."

Dawn chuckled mischievously and took his hand. They descended the stairs together. The evening service went much faster than she anticipated. Before she knew it, it was over. The atmosphere was perfect with its lit candles and rosy faces. Her amulet was glowing a warm shade of red. The glow wasn't lost to Claude's attention—it cast a soft, warm light to her features. They took their time talking to the others.

At last, the doors to Notre Dame were closed and everyone splintered off to get ready for bed. Claude's hand slid into hers and they ascended the stairs. Squishie was conspicuously absent…trust a dog as smart as she was to have an almost human sense of discretion. She decided to leave the door cracked in case Squishie came back so that she wouldn't get chilled.

The sense of awkwardness and clumsiness that had affected their first night together was absent. They had gotten acquainted with each other better and knew what the other one liked. New to this though they were, Dawn had explained to Claude that it usually took each couple some time to get it right. He was no longer so shy and cautious with her and she was grateful for that.

Later, when they both lay in a satisfied and sleepy haze in each other's arms, they heard the door creak. Squishie raised up on her hind legs and pushed the door open with her front paws. After she'd made a gap wide enough to get in, she stood on her hind legs again and pushed the door closed.

"How did she learn that?" Claude asked.

"I don't like sleeping with doors open," Dawn explained, "I taught her how to do that when she was a puppy."

Squishie jumped up on the bed. Wagging her tail, she greeted both of them. After she'd had her fill of their affections, she wandered down to the end of the bed and settled down with a sigh. She decided that she wasn't satisfied and began to dig at the covers. Dawn giggled.

"She figured out that I was ticklish once and started doing that to my ribs," Dawn told him, "I couldn't move, I was laughing so hard."

She glanced down at Squishie.

"Where have you been?"

An image popped into her head of Quasimodo and Michael. Quasimodo had been throwing Squishie's ball for them and Squishie wanted to show Michael how it was done.

"Quasimodo was playing with them," Dawn explained to Claude.

"Oh."

Claude was grateful for that amulet. A jealous dog jumping on them would have really been distracting. He moved closer to Dawn since their shared body heat kept them warmer.

"I've been thinking," he said quietly.

"About…?" Dawn prompted.

"I saw a lot of children today…and I saw natural it seemed for you to be around them and play with them."

She suspected that she knew where this was going, but she waited quietly just to make sure.

"I was wondering if…"

He trailed off, but she felt his hand slide over her belly.

"If we're going to have one?" she asked.

"Yes."

Dawn shrugged.

"It's too soon to tell," she said, "we've only been together a couple of weeks. Most women don't figure it out until they're at least a month along."

She felt sorry for Claude because he didn't seem to know very much about women. He looked a little confused. It was understandable, she guessed, because most people in this time period didn't know very much about ovulation, conception, and gestation. They didn't call it the Dark Ages for nothing, she mused.

Trying not to get overly detailed, she explained that it took at least a month to start seeing the signs. Some women were lucky enough not to feel any different; others would start feeling sick and getting the side effects of the changing hormones. In her case, she probably wouldn't develop the "bump" until later on because she was heavy.

Though she tried not to make pregnancy sound nightmarish, Claude made a face.

"I don't want to put you through that," he lamented.

"We're not going to know how bad it is until it happens," she reminded him, "besides, I wouldn't want to miss out on having kids just because of that."

She wasn't so sure she believed herself, but he did and that was all that mattered. Though she was considerably younger than him, she understood his concern: he didn't want to wait until he started to age to have children. Images of what Claude might have looked like as a child flooded her mind. It warmed her heart that he wanted to have a baby with her. Yes…she had chosen well.

"I wasn't much of a father to Quasimodo," Claude said quietly, "I was very impatient and strict with him. I was that way with Jehan as well…"

"You were young," Dawn reminded him, "and probably a little scared. I would have been, too. My mom was only nineteen when she had me. Even though that's probably not uncommon around here, it was really young where I lived. She didn't regret it, though, and neither did I. I think at that age, we're still trying to figure out who we are and what we want and how to take care of ourselves…we're so mixed up that we don't have a clue how to take care of somebody else. I know I was."

She had grown up, he realized, and he had as well.

"I remember going to church once and my pastor said that there was no such thing as 'ready enough', 'mature enough', or having enough money to get married."

"He sounds like a very wise man," Claude commented, "I'm getting older and I don't know if I'll ever be ready."

"We will be when the time comes," Dawn assured him, "we won't think we are, but we'll make it. We've survived tougher things than that."

Claude couldn't help but smile. If someone would have told him the events to come when he'd met Dawn, then informed them that they were going to have a child, he would have automatically assumed that raising a child would be easier. Now, he supposed, they were roughly equal to each other.

"The good news is that we've got a whole future together," Dawn said warmly, "and we don't have to know everything beforehand."

She pressed her lips to his again before laying her head on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was music to her ears. She remembered what he had said earlier about God being everywhere. One of the voices that He spoke in, she supposed, was a person's heartbeat.


	33. Chapter 33

The rest of December passed quietly. On New Year's Day, Claude married Esmeralda and Pierre. Dawn signed as one of the witnesses and gifted them with a portrait she'd been working on for the last week. She had received oil paints as a late Christmas gift from the church and was trying out her skills with that.

The Festival of Fools came again during that cold and windy January. Dawn hoped that Pierre would have better luck with his plays this year after hearing what had happened when she'd first arrived. Since Pierre and Esmeralda were married now, they could work together. Pierre found all of his actors and Dawn and Esmeralda would provide the music with the guitar and tambourine. One of the old gypsy men could play the flute quite well, so he joined in. Claude had other things to attend to, but he said he would come if he could slip away for a few minutes.

The play was the one he'd written about the judgment of Mary. He had improved on the storyline and the dialog considerably and the audience didn't even recognize it. They seemed much more engaged this time and were clapping and cheering. Jehan, much to everyone's surprise, was one of the actors. Dawn noticed that he had caught the eye of a dark-haired woman in the crowd. Her hazel eyes glowed with admiration for him. He winked at her and she colored deeply.

"Who's that?" Dawn mouthed to him when his part was over and he stepped back behind the curtains. His gesture told her that he would explain later.

The play was soon over and coins went flying wildly in all directions. Pierre eagerly collected them, ecstatic over the success. After dividing them up amongst the actors, Jehan stepped back onto the stage.

"How about electing our king of fools?" he asked. The crowd noisily assented. The ones who wanted to try for the title began to line up where they would stick their face in the hole. Dawn began to play a lively tune with her guitar, pausing for the faces. After the crowd responded, she would play a low tone, indicating that they were not chosen.

"Why don't you try?" Jehan asked Quasimodo.

"My master was angry with me last time," he objected.

"He won't be this year," Jehan promised, "he's changed."

Still doubtful, Quasimodo ascended onto the stage. Some people were still rude, but many of them cheered. Dawn played a victorious-sounding progression of chords and the bell ringer was crowned again. He was swept away in the chair.

"Well, I hope Claude doesn't kill us for this," she told Jehan, "now, who's your friend?"

"Her name is Celeste," Jehan informed her, "we met during the snowball fight. She's the daughter of a horse trader."

"Nice," Dawn said encouragingly, "do you think there's potential?"

Jehan nodded.

"If my brother can find someone, then surely so can I," he answered.

Celeste was talking to some friends of hers, but she glanced shyly over at Jehan.

"Don't stay on my account. Go on!" Dawn urged him.

He didn't need a second invitation. Gathering his courage and ego, Jehan leapt off the platform and ventured closer. First, he detoured to a local pastry vendor and bought two of them. Dawn smiled as he offered one to Celeste. She nibbled delicately at it and seemed to genuinely enjoy his company.

"Matchmaking for my brother?"

Dawn almost jumped a foot. She playfully swatted at Claude.

"Don't do that! You almost made me have a heart-attack!" she scolded him.

"I'm surprised I can hear myself think with all this noise," he remarked, "who's that?"

"He met her when we had the big snowball fight on Christmas," Dawn explained, "her name is Celeste."

Jehan had apparently said something funny because Celeste was red with laughter. Her face was brighter than her pink dress.

"He does seem happier than I've ever seen him," Claude observed. Then, he caught sight of Quasimodo being paraded around. Before he had a chance to move, Dawn seized Claude's hand.

"Don't," she begged, "look how much fun he's having!"

It was sometimes hard to tell when Quasimodo was smiling, but he was.

Claude sighed.

"All right, I'll let him be for now," he gave in, "but there is such a thing as too much attention."

Dawn was satisfied with that. She kissed him on the cheek even though there were other people watching. She thought it was cute how his face still colored with every gesture of affection she gave him. To make sure that Quasimodo could have his fun, she changed the setting on her guitar and struck a chord. A few people's heads turned.

"What-" Claude started to ask, but Dawn gently shoved him down into the chair she'd been sitting in. She hadn't written the song she was about to play, but it seemed to fit.

"It's a little bit funny…

This feeling inside,

I'm not one of those who can

Easily hide…

I don't have much money,

But boy if I did

I'd buy a big house where

We both could live…"

Claude could feel the attention collecting on him and the heat rose to his face. It was strange that he didn't mind it inside the cathedral, but outside was a different matter entirely.

"If I was a sculptor,

But then again no

Or a girl who sells potions

In a traveling show…

I know it's not much, but

It's the best I can do…

My gift is my song and

This one's for you…

And you can tell everybody

This is your song.

It may be quite simple but

Now that it's done…

I hope you don't mind,

I hope you don't mind,

That I put down in words

How wonderful life is

While you're in the world…"

"Play that song you sang in front of the cathedral!" Lucie yelled. Other yells of agreement permeated the crowd. Dawn's face had gone rosy, too. Without hesitation, she began to play the chords for it.

"_Je sais ton amour  
Je sais l'eau versée sur mon corps  
Sentir son cours jour aprčs jour  
J'ai remonté les tourments pour m'approcher encore_

_(_She was surprised when Claude joined in.)_  
J'ai ton désir ancré sur le mien  
J'ai ton désir ancré ŕ mes chevilles  
Viens, rien ne nous retient ŕ rien  
Tout ne tient qu'ŕ nous_

(Claude had the melody as Dawn sang a third above him.)

_Je fais de toi mon essentiel  
Tu me fais naître parmi les hommes  
Je fais de toi mon essentiel  
Celle que j'aimerais plus que personne  
Si tu veux qu'on s'apprenne (Si tu veux qu'on s'apprenne)  
Si tu veux qu'on s'apprenne(Si tu veux qu'on s'apprenne)_

"We should have suggested that sooner," Pierre said good-naturedly, "he's a natural at this."

"Good luck getting him to do it tomorrow," Jehan remarked.

The rest of the song gave Quasimodo time to get down from his "throne". He stood at the front of the crowd. One of the little kids had trouble seeing the platform, so she was now sitting on his shoulders. When the song was over, there was thunderous applause.

"I so should recruit you for this more often," Dawn commented.

"Once was enough," Claude reminded her, "I really should get back to the cathedral now."

He pecked her on the cheek and took off, unaccustomed to all this attention. He did not regard himself as a performer, nor did he want to make it a habit. He would be lucky if he didn't get in trouble for it.

There was a bonfire and a feast. Dawn stayed out most of the day, but she was glad when she could just go home to Claude. Squishie and Djali had done tricks for the crowd and they were tired, too.

Claude was waiting for her when she came in. Though he didn't begrudge her a good time, it was clear that something was troubling him. As soon as they got upstairs, Dawn addressed his distant expression.

"Something on your mind?" she asked as she began to get ready for bed. Claude paced in front of the fireplace, trying to figure out how to express it without offending her.

"You do realize that my singing with you today was a one-time event, right?" he asked cautiously.

Dawn shrugged.

"Yeah. I kind of figured."

She smiled.

"It was great, though. You sounded awesome! They loved you."

Claude's insides squirmed uncomfortably. She was going to hate him for this….

Dawn became nervous when he released a frustrated sigh. That was never a good sign. She braced herself, preparing for the crap to hit the fan.

"I don't think you should draw so much attention to yourself," he blurted out finally.

Dawn was confused. She stared at him, her brush paused halfway down her hair.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her insides tightening.

"I saw some things that concerned me," he said uneasily, "the way some of those men in that crowd looked at you…their expressions were filled with lust."

Dawn laughed, which only made Claude angry.

"Oh…well, they're men, Claude. Most men look. It doesn't mean anything."

"Yes it does," he said tensely, "I know that your intentions are harmless and that you only perform for fun, but that's not the way it's taken. Their eyes wander over you and they begin to think about where they would touch you…the seeds of sin only need a tiny bit of ground to grow."

Dawn's laughter had died. She stared at him incredulously.

"But I'm _married_ to _you,_" she reminded him, "it's not like they don't already know that. You have nothing to worry about, Claude."

His eyes closed for a minute and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The gesture told Dawn that he was either getting a headache or he was aggravated about something.

"I do," he answered, "we have a responsibility to those people out there to counteract their sinful natures as much as we can. I don't want you to perform anymore."

Dawn was in shock.

"You can't be serious," she said, the tension rising in her own voice.

"I am," he said firmly, "I have a responsibility to protect you and to protect them."

Dawn's amulet flashed green, then settled into a flaming bright shade of orange. As if her expression wasn't an indicator enough…

"You said that I could keep doing it," she snapped, "and you promised that you wouldn't try to change me."

"I already allow you a lot more liberty than most men would," he said angrily, "you should be grateful!"

He knew he should shut his mouth and go calm down, but the words cascaded out in a torrent.

"It's time that you learned your place here," he said sharply, "you are my wife—not a street performer, not a wayward gypsy girl, not a child. It's time that you started to act like it."

Every muscle in Dawn's body tensed and the amulet blazed brightly.

"I was afraid this would happen," she said, eerily quiet, "I was afraid that you'd start listening to everybody else. I was up front with you about what I was and who I was. If you weren't prepared to accept all of it, then you shouldn't have agreed to it."

In a childish gesture of defiance, she took her wedding band off and threw it at the floor near his feet. It clinked against the stone floor before it finally landed a few inches away. Pretending to be strong, Dawn stalked out the door and let it slam loudly behind her. The sound echoed and she didn't care who heard. Her feet carried her through the cavernous building until she reached the familiar bell tower. She was glad that Quasimodo wasn't up here. She had some broken pride to nurse. Sitting on her old bed, she gazed out at the starry night and cried the bitter tears of a wounded ego.

Claude stood where he was for several minutes, his face white with shock. He'd known she'd be upset, but he never expected her to react that strongly. Feeling sick to his stomach, he retrieved the ring from where it hand landed. Clutching it tightly in his fist, he wondered if he'd made a terrible mistake in marrying Dawn. Kneeling down to pray, he went to the only one that had all the answers and begged God to help them fix it before it got any worse.


	34. Chapter 34

Quasimodo was surprised to find Dawn in the bell tower, but he didn't ask what she was doing there. One look at her expression told him that she didn't feel like talking. Squishie tried to console her, but she was too irritable for that. To top it off, she had made herself so mad that she felt queasy this morning. The day was dull and cloudy, a perfect match for her mood. She couldn't stay up here for forever and she knew it.

Claude wasn't in the bedroom, as he'd already gone downstairs. Dawn was grateful for that and got washed up and changed her clothes. Though her stomach was still feeling shaky, she went downstairs and had her usual coffee and ate some breakfast. She could hear his voice for Mass, but she decided not to attend. Feeling aggressive and argumentative, she left the cathedral and went for a walk. She noticed Esmeralda and Pierre when she went pass the gypsy camp.

"Hello, Dawn!" Esmeralda greeted her. Dawn half-heartedly waved to her before coming closer.

"What's the matter?" Esmeralda asked, seeing Dawn's expression.

"Claude and I had a fight," she muttered.

"About what?" Esmeralda asked.

"He doesn't want me playing anymore, at least not in public," Dawn sighed.

Esmeralda wasn't surprised. Things like that could easily be a sore spot for men of the church.

"Why not?"

"He says that guys look at me and think bad stuff," Dawn said dismissively, "I'm surprised that didn't come up before now."

She explained what Claude had said and then how things had quickly escalated. Dawn hated fighting with people, but she felt that she needed to stand her ground.

"I don't want him trying to stuff me into this little box," Dawn sighed, "I understand him feeling some insecurity about other guys looking at me and I understand that he doesn't want them getting ideas, but still…if I worried about it all the time, I'd never be able to leave our room."

Esmeralda nodded.

"They're all like that," she said in understanding, "Pierre's struggled with it, too. He's much better about jealousy than he used to be. It will pass."

"I hope it's soon," Dawn sighed, "music is my life and so is art. I love Claude, I really do, but I can't give up music. If he gave me that ultimatum, I don't know what I'd do."

"I hope he never does," Esmeralda said sympathetically, "it would be a shame."

Dawn nodded.

"The first fight is always the hardest," Esmeralda informed her, "because both of you are wondering if you chose the wrong person. You wonder if it really was too good to be true and if you'd have been better off alone. Neither one wants to give in for fear that the other one will always expect it."

Dawn nodded again. All of those things had crossed her mind.

"It will pass," Esmeralda informed her, "you'll both realize that you can't possibly agree on everything and you'll learn to pick your battles. Everyone goes through it. I heard tell that Phoebus and Fleur never fight…I don't suppose he's at home long enough."

Dawn laughed.

"That can't be good. I guess I'd rather fight than not fight," she answered jokingly, "at least things are getting aired out."

She saw two guards approaching. One of the priests, a kind old man named Jacques, was with them.

"The archdeacon wants to see you," he informed her.

Dawn snorted indignantly.

"Fine. But was it really necessary for him to send the guards?" she asked irritably.

Jacques shrugged. He'd only followed instructions.

"I'll see you later. Thanks for the talk," Dawn told Esmeralda. A part of her wanted to cut and run just to show Claude that she could. The other part of her decided it was bad enough that they'd fought and she didn't want to add to the mess by being dragged back to Notre Dame like a criminal. The guards relaxed a little when Dawn appeared to come willingly.

"So, what kind of mood is he in?" Dawn inquired.

"Not a very good one, I'm afraid," Jacques lamented, "he's been very short-tempered all morning and he's not very good at hiding it."

"Great," Dawn muttered darkly. They reached the halfway point when Dawn's stomach suddenly seemed to slam upward into her throat. Much to her mortification, she was sick all over the road. Jacques, startled, stared at her with wide eyes. Dawn pressed a hand to her forehead and turned away from the puddle she'd just created.

"I do not want him to hear about this," she told the priest and two guards.

"But-" Jacques objected, seeing how pale she'd just become.

"Don't. Tell. Him."

Dawn didn't want to play the sympathy card. She didn't want Claude giving in just because her nervous stomach had overreacted. She'd be fine in a minute.

Again, Claude was waiting for her on the steps. Though she felt a little shaky, she refused to acknowledge that she felt like crap. She willed her guts to stop churning. Jacques and the guards quickly made an exit when he nodded a dismissal to them.

"You left."

It was a statement, not a question.

"I was only gone for an hour," Dawn said irritably.

The look on his face was one she didn't recognize. It wasn't anger…more like hurt.

"I went for a walk to try and calm down, okay? I don't like fighting."

She realized that he was holding her ring. A pang of guilt shadowed her mind. The belligerence had drained out of her, almost as if she'd thrown that up along with breakfast. She suddenly felt very, very tired. She hadn't slept well last night. He closed the distance between them by descending the stairs.

"Come inside," he said.

Dawn didn't move.

"You're as pale as milk. Come inside," he said more firmly. Dawn glanced down at the amulet. It swirled a murky gray just like the clouds above. She allowed him to lead her inside to where she could sit down. Sitting in the last row of pews, he allowed a moment of silence to pass between them before he spoke.

"Jehan seems to have a sixth sense about these things. He asked me what I'd done this time."

Dawn smiled faintly. She looked at Claude's hands absently turning the ring around because she didn't like the hurt in his eyes. He gathered his thoughts for a moment.

"If I died and went to Hell right this moment," Claude quietly, "none of their tortures would have been as effective as seeing you about to be burned at the stake that day…when they released you and I brought you back here, I swore that I wouldn't let anything else happen to you."

In his own way, he was trying to explain to her that he wanted to protect her.

"I can't bear the thought of someone else harming you," he told her, "and when I see the way they look at you sometimes, I'm reminded of the way I was when I thought I was in love with Esmeralda…the way I acted, the way I seemed to lose control of everything…"

His hand cautiously grazed hers.

"I love you," he sighed, "and the thought of losing you is unbearable to me."

"Do you know how many people that were around me that were my friends? It's very unlikely anything could happen to me," Dawn told Claude, "it was a holiday. Yes, some people drank too much. Yes, some guys do hit on me, but guess what? Between Squishie, Djali, and all of my male friends, they couldn't get close to me. I don't have any interest in them. You're the only guy I'm capable of being attracted to and in love with."

In other words, his jealousy was all for naught.

"I love you, Claude, but you're going to have to trust me the way I trust you."

Grateful that they were talking in civilized tones and not fighting, he hugged her. She rested her head against his shoulder.

"I trust you," he commented.

"No, I mean really trust me. As in take it easy on the jealousy," she clarified.

"I'll try," he sighed.

"Thank God."

She allowed her eyes to slide closed. He slipped the ring back onto her finger and held her hand in his.

"Are you all right?" he asked. She acted as though she didn't feel well.

"I didn't sleep good last night," Dawn admitted.

That was understandable.

"Neither did I," he confessed, "I was lonely."

Dawn hugged him. Darn those big blue eyes of his!

"Why don't you go take a nap?" he suggested. Ordinarily, she would have objected, but she allowed him to steer her up the stairs. For one awful moment, she thought she would be sick again, but it passed. She lay down on the bed. He spread a blanket over her and Squishie curled up beside her. Claude's cool hand felt good on her warm forehead and he sang to her. She drifted off to sleep as his voice caressed her mind and her ears.


	35. Chapter 35

Claude was so deeply involved with his prayers that he didn't notice Phoebus right next to him. He let out a startled yelp and clutched a hand to his pounding heart.

"Sorry…" Phoebus said sheepishly, "I was wondering if I could ask a favor."

Claude gave him a questioning look.

"My wife has gone into labor and we can't find the midwife anywhere…there's so much blood…I fear she may be dying…I know that yours has healed many since she arrived."

"I'll get her," Claude said quickly. He raced up the stairs to the bedroom. Dawn jerked awake when the door banged open.

"We need your help," Claude said breathlessly.

Still heavy-limbed and dazed from a deep sleep, Dawn pushed herself into a sitting position.

"What for?" she yawned.

"Fleur has gone into labor."

Dawn stared.

"I don't know anything about delivering babies," she confessed.

"You know more than Phoebus and I and that's all that matters."

For one awful moment, he thought she was going to object. Instead, she merely retrieved her black backpack and followed him.

"I can't promise anything," Dawn admitted, "but I'll do the best I can."

Once again a united front, they descended the stairs and followed Phoebus back to the house. Though Phoebus had put his mask of bravery on, Dawn could see from his paleness that he was afraid.

_Maybe this will wake him up,_ Dawn thought, remembering all the times that she'd seen Phoebus with other women. She silently prayed for intervention, as she knew that delivering a baby in the Middle Ages could be a very risky thing for both the child and the mother. Since her own mom was a nurse, Dawn had heard a little about babies, but she'd never actually been present for a delivery.

"How long has she been having contractions?" Dawn asked.

"The whole day," Phoebus told her.

That wasn't uncommon. She'd heard of women sometimes being in labor for two or three days before the medicine to help things along had been available.

"When did the water break?"

"It was still daylight…the sun was going down, though."

Dawn had only vaguely noticed it was dark outside. She wondered why she felt so out of it.

They reached the house within a few minutes. Marguerite had come to keep Fleur company. Aurora was in the floor playing with a kitten by pulling a string for it to chase. Squishie greeted the little girl enthusiastically and was even friendly to the kitten. The three of them went upstairs.

Claude had never seen a birth before. He'd seen the aftermath of it when either the mother or the child (or sometimes both) didn't make it. The sight in front of him made his stomach churn.

Fleur was in so much pain that she was sobbing into her pillow. Blood stained her chemise, her legs, and her covers. She was pale and trembling. Phoebus lingered in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Without a second's hesitation, Claude began to pray for her as Dawn rifled through her bag for something to help. She didn't immediately see anything that hadn't been there before, so she took one of the alcohol pads from the first aid kit and began to scrub her hands and her arms up to the elbows. The bag was precariously perched on the chair and a small book fell out. Curious, Dawn picked it up and held it closer to the candle so that she could see. Detailed instructions for delivering a baby were written on the pages. By now, it was clear that everyone else around her was panicking. Dawn whistled shrilly, getting all of them to shut up.

"One of you go boil some water and throw a piece of string in there. We'll need it to cut the cord. I want clean blankets and clean rags. Phoebus, you get over here and hold her hand. Somebody go and get Lucie from the gypsy camp—she's probably got something to help with the pain. And for God's sake, everybody stop panicking—I can't think with all of you freaking out."

Everyone dispersed. Claude went to go get Lucie since he knew where she lived. Phoebus was so shocked at being told what to do that he actually did what he was told. Marguerite went downstairs to boil the water and retrieve the clean blankets and the rags.

"Now…" Dawn said, thinking out loud, "let's try sitting you up…laying on your back obviously isn't working for you."

She and Phoebus shifted Fleur so that she was kneeling. Phoebus was supporting her from behind. Dawn examined the next page in the book. She cringed inwardly; Fleur was so thin that her pelvis was probably too narrow. She hoped against hope that they could do it without having to attempt a C-section. Dawn was no surgeon and she doubted anyone else would want to try their hand at it.

Lucie appeared in the doorway, a steaming mug in her hand.

"This will get that child moving," Lucie said, holding it to Fleur's lips, "my mother had six children and she always swore by it.

Fleur grimaced at the taste of whatever herbal concoction that Lucie had given her, but she forced it down sip by sip. Claude lingered on the stairs, unsure of whether he should stay or go. Phoebus looked like he wanted to run away.

The labor continued. Dawn shifted Fleur to every imaginable position she could think of. She rubbed Fleur's belly and began to push on it to see if she could move the baby that way. Everyone's nerves and frustration began to build. After what seemed like an eternity, the head finally made an appearance.

"Thank God," Dawn breathed.

She noticed something that made her blood freeze. The cord was wrapped around the baby's neck.

"Come on, push! Its life depends on it," Dawn urged her. The amulet flashed green, but she ignored it. Now was not the time to get freaked out. It seemed that the baby wasn't moving.

"Come _on,_" Dawn urged.

"I am…" Fleur choked out.

Out of desperation, Dawn's hands grasped the baby's shoulders and tugged. The pressure was suddenly released and the baby was free.

"You have a son," Dawn announced.

"Why isn't he crying?" Phoebus demanded.

"Just a second."

_Oh…disgusting…but necessary…_

Dawn sealed her lips around the baby's nose and mouth and started sucking the fluid out. She rubbed the baby's back.

"Come on, damn it! Take a breath! Is that so hard?" Dawn yelled out of frustration as she hurriedly tied the cord shut. She created the seal again and breathed outward forcefully.

The baby coughed and then began to cry.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Dawn told him. The tension slowly seeped out of the room. Fleur went limp in Phoebus's arms, breathing raggedly. Claude sat down at the top of the stairs where he was. Lucie cackled victoriously. Marguerite crossed herself and thanked God.

Dawn wiped the poor little thing off and carried him over to Fleur and Phoebus.

"Take good care of him, guys. He went through a lot to get here," she said wearily. She scrubbed her hands clean again and retrieved her bag.

"How can we repay you?" Fleur asked.

Dawn thought that over.

"Well…all of us would appreciate it if you'd stop acting like you're both better than everyone else. We're all blessed in different ways."

She exited the room and said goodbye to Marguerite and Aurora. After being in the overheated, stuffy, crowded bedroom, Dawn breathed a sigh of relief when the wintry night air filled her lungs.

"What?" she asked, seeing the way that Claude looked at her.

"I was just thinking that I find out something new about you every day that I'm with you," he answered, "you could have asked for anything from them and you only asked them to be kind to others."

"I thought I asked a lot of them," Dawn answered.

He smiled and slipped his hand into hers.

"I didn't think it was possible to love you more than the day we married," he said warmly, "but you've proven me wrong."

The amulet glowed red. Dawn squeezed his hand, as words didn't quite cover it.

"I've learned a lot from you, too," she confessed.

Though it was freezing out, they walked along the river bank just like old times. When they came to rest on the dock, Claude remembered Dawn literally carrying him off of it. He chuckled to himself, reminding himself never to question Dawn's stubbornness.

"What?" Dawn asked.

"I was remembering the day that you carried me back to the cathedral just to show me you could," Claude said, reminiscing, "that was the night I realized that the words 'can't' or 'shouldn't' were going to cause you to do the opposite."

"The word 'can't' is as good as a swear-word to me," Dawn told him, "you should know this by now."

She slid into his arms.

"Are you feeling better?"

"A little," she answered.

"Jacques mentioned you were sick this morning."

"I'll kill him."

"He was worried about you," Claude reminded her, "don't be upset with him."

"I asked him not to tell."

Her pride was going to be the death of her one of these days. Claude decided not to mention it out loud.

"I probably just ate something that didn't agree with me," Dawn said dismissively, "it was probably nothing major."

…

After her stomach had rebelled for the third morning in a row, Claude no longer believed her. As any good husband would, he held her hair out of her face for her and waited for it to pass. He sponged the back of Dawn's neck with a cold cloth.

"Thanks," she said miserably.

"Would you think terribly of me if I said I don't believe you?"

Dawn was confused.

"What about?"

"That it's nothing major," he quoted her, "most healthy people I know don't make a habit of this."

Dawn sighed and rinsed her mouth out.

"It's not like I do it on purpose," she muttered.

"I know. I want you to see the doctor today."

"I probably just caught a bug. He won't be able to help me with that."

Claude sent her a warning look.

"I will drag you down there myself if you don't go," he said. Seeing the resolute expression on his face, she knew he wasn't joking.

"All right," she gave in.

She was a little aggravated that he felt the need to walk with her down there. She wondered why…he probably just wanted to make sure she was all right.

The doctor had received all of his training before taking his vows as a priest. He was a kind middle-aged man who seemed to always have a faint smile on his lips. Dawn had seen him a couple of times, though just in passing. He tilted his head respectfully to them.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"She's been sick every morning this week," Claude informed him, "sometimes during other hours of the day as well."

"Come here. I want to take a closer look."

The doctor felt Dawn's forehead and cheeks for fever. She was a little warm, but not feverish.

"Any other symptoms?" he asked. She looked tired, but he wanted her to say it.

"I'm wiped out all the time," Dawn said, "I feel like I have to work twice as hard just to get up and move around. And I've had to use the bathroom a lot."

She turned a little red as she said it, but the doctor wasn't phased. He instructed her to lay down on a nearby bed and gently prodded her stomach. Claude had followed them into the room and was standing on the other side of the bed. Upon reaching her lower abdomen, he looked thoughtful.

"Ginger will help with the sickness," he informed her, "I know a few things that it could be, but it's too soon to tell."

Dawn sat up.

"Is it anything serious?"

"Maybe," he said, keeping a perfectly straight face. Lowering his voice, he moved closer so the other patients in the room wouldn't hear.

"Forgive me for asking such a personal question, but when was the last time you bled?"

Dawn frowned. She honestly couldn't remember. She knew she had before the wedding…

"Before Christmas at least," she thought out loud, "I don't think…"

Her thoughts slammed to a halt. The doctor sent Claude a knowing look.

"If I'm not mistaken, you are with child, my dear," the doctor announced, "you should stop feeling sick at around three months."

Dawn felt the blood drain out of her face. She would have reacted differently if she hadn't seen Claude's face. His expression amused her so much that she burst into laughter.


	36. Chapter 36

"What's the matter, brother? You look as if you've seen a ghost," Jehan remarked. Claude sighed…his color was apparently as ashen as Dawn's right now.

"The opposite, actually," Claude sighed. Jehan's grin grew.

"She's pregnant, isn't she?"

"She's pregnant."

Claude jumped a little when Jehan cuffed him playfully on the shoulder.

"Well, you work fast, don't you?" Jehan teased, "Do you realize you've only been married about a month or so?"

"Yes, Jehan…it's too early for me to forget our wedding date."

Jehan chuckled.

"Just wait until that morning sickness goes away…then it gets more fun. My wife, God rest her soul, couldn't keep her hands off of me after the third month or so. The midwife told us we could enjoy it until the fifth."

Claude gave Jehan the Look that said _too much information._

"Does it really last for three months?" he asked dejectedly.

"Not always. I've heard every woman is different," Jehan answered, "but all protesting bellies aside, what do you think of being a future father?"

Claude thought that over for a moment.

"I'm a little frightened, to tell you the truth. I've never been very good at it…"

"You did well enough," Jehan told him, "I'm still alive, aren't I?"

It was enough of a compliment to make Claude feel better.

"And Quasimodo's happy and making friends with other people now. Of course, you've definitely lightened up since Dawn's been around."

"I love her so much…I only wish that she wasn't so sick," Claude sighed.

"Make sure you tell her that," Jehan told him, "she'll need to hear it a lot. Women with child get very emotional. I'm not sure why…sometimes it's over nothing at all."

Apparently, he had a lot to look forward to. Claude sighed. Dawn's emotions usually seemed a little intense to him—and that was how she was normally. He couldn't imagine her getting worse. It frightened him.

"It won't be so bad," Jehan said dismissively, "where is she, anyway?"

"Outside with Esmeralda. Esmeralda wanted someone to talk to…I hope she and Pierre aren't having problems."

Jehan snorted.

"I doubt it."

Esmeralda and Pierre had seemed rather affectionate as of late. Another couple of weeks had passed since the Festival of Fools. Everyone was still talking about how sweet Claude and Dawn had been when they sang their duet. Claude was grateful that Dawn seemed not to harbor any resentment towards their fight that evening. In fact, she didn't mention it at all. That was one good thing, at least…

…

"What's up?" Dawn asked as they walked down by the river.

"Well…you tell me first," Esmeralda said.

"You remember how I was having issues with being tired and getting sick?"

"Yes…"

"It's because God looked at me and laughed His head off. Claude and I sort of received an unexpected blessing."

Esmeralda stopped in surprise.

"You're having a baby?"

"Apparently…everything adds up," Dawn remarked, skipping a rock across the water, "I took it better than Claude did. The doctor told us after Claude made me go see him."

Esmeralda laughed.

"He was pretty shocked," Dawn said, chuckling, "he turned as white as a sheet. He's spent a lot of time praying since then. So, what's your big news?"

Esmeralda grinned conspiratorially.

"Pierre and I are blessed as well."

"Wow…small world," Dawn laughed, "and getting smaller once the belly starts growing. What's he think?"

"I haven't told him yet. I wanted to be sure."

"Is that why the two of you got married?"

"Well…yes and no. We've been getting very close this last year and we crossed the line between friends and lovers. He's very sweet…I don't know why I didn't see it sooner. We got married because…we decided not to wait."

Dawn nodded.

"It happens. I'm just glad it worked out. It's nice to know that the guy isn't going anywhere. Poor Claude…he's been really good about all this even when he's holding my hair back for the fourth time and even when I start bawling for no reason."

"I've been very fortunate," Esmeralda said, "I haven't been feeling as sick as you have."

"I'm glad one of us isn't."

She pressed a hand over her belly. It was firm under her hand, but it hadn't started to bulge out yet. She was wide-hipped, so it would be unlikely that she would show for a while.

"So, when are you going to tell Pierre?"

"I don't know how."

"Well, he's going to figure it out sooner or later. Want me to come?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

"In the cathedral."

"Let's go."

…...

Pierre had been talking to Jehan when he saw the two women enter. The cook had given up trying to keep people out of the kitchen—it was becoming the designated "hang-out" spot these days. Dawn smelled freshly baked bread and was suddenly ravenous. The sickness was still present, but it had kept its distance today.

"Is everything all right?" Pierre asked, concerned.

"Yes."

She sat in Pierre's lap. Dawn grinned warmly at this gesture of affection, as did Jehan. Claude emerged as well. He couldn't stay long, but the priest in him sensed big news.

"It's just that you seemed a little worried this morning," Pierre commented, still obviously confused.

"Tell him," Dawn mumbled around a big mouthful.

"We have a blessing on the way," Esmeralda stage-whispered. Pierre stared in shock.

"Congratulations all around," Jehan said jovially. He raised his glass in a toast and downed most of the contents. Claude frowned.

"Jehan, have you been in the communion wine again?"

Dawn giggled.

"That's only for communion? Oh, come now! A little piece of bread dipped in is not enough to appreciate the fullness of the flavor," Jehan laughed.

Claude sighed and shook his head. He removed the bottle from the table and took it back to the pantry.

"Are you sure?" Pierre asked Esmeralda.

"I'm sure," she answered, "I can feel it."

He hugged her affectionately, his face rosy.

"This is wonderful," he sighed, "I'll finally have a family."

"Who said you didn't have one?" Dawn asked. She couldn't help but laugh inside—it was a sappy statement, but she was in a sappy mood now.

Squishie sang-barked and everyone laughed. Dawn tossed her a chunk of bread. She caught it in midair and gobbled it down.

"Ours is a boy," Dawn announced.

"How would you know?" Claude asked.

"Because every woman in my family got majorly sick if it was a boy. I think Esmeralda's having a girl," Dawn answered, "we always got a little bit sick with girls, but it was way worse with boys. I was only wrong once—you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because it was both—twins!"

Everyone laughed. Claude hugged Dawn from behind, his hands resting on her belly. The sweetness of the gesture made her tear up a little bit. She mentally groaned and blinked the offending drops back.

"You know what? Let's have lunch in the garden. It's too nice of a day to spend in here."


	37. Chapter 37

After what seemed like an endless winter, spring finally came to warm and revive the snow-battered Paris. Patches of bare earth were left behind in the snow, trees had green buds, and green shoots grew up as soon as the ground thawed completely. It was still chilly, but the wind wasn't so sharp and didn't bite one's ears and face. Dawn and Esmeralda began to show the slightest bit of a curve to their bellies and the morning sickness (Thank God) let up considerably. Though Dawn had her moments, Claude was relieved to see that she was in a much better mood. He had a feeling she wouldn't have been quite so angry with him if she hadn't been sick that day…he tried not to think of that. They were getting along now and they had been for the most part (if he sensed a mood swing coming, he simply picked his battles wisely and tried not to make a big deal about it otherwise).

"This has been the four longest months of my life," he sighed one evening.

"I can see that," Jehan said, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "you look as exhausted as she does."

Claude managed a small smile.

"I hope pregnancy isn't contagious," he commented, "because I swear I start feeling sick sometimes when she does."

"Sympathy pangs," Jehan replied, "a lot of men complain about it if they're around their wives all the time. It will pass."

"I hope so."

"Where is Dawn, anyway?"

"Upstairs. She's trying to have the room next to ours turned into the baby's room. I swear she's had everything rearranged at least fifty times…poor Pierre. I'm glad I was busy at the time she started on that project."

Jehan chuckled.

"I believe the old wives refer to that as 'nesting'. This too shall pass."

"I should probably go and make sure she isn't moving anything herself," Claude said, standing, "I know her…and if she thinks she can do it, she will."

Having no other way to pass the time, Jehan followed him.

Some well-wishers from the church had found out that Dawn was pregnant through the grapevine (though some had asked her directly) and brought gifts for the baby. They had received clothes, a cradle, and several other things. It hardly surprised Claude anymore to see Dawn disappearing up the stairs after a service with someone carrying something.

He heard a scraping sound and opened the door. Dawn motioned for the large dresser to be moved a little more to left.

"There. Now it's perfect."

A panting Pierre collapsed onto one of the chairs.

"That's what you said the last five times," he told her.

Dawn turned to see Claude.

"And where have you been?" she asked casually.

"I had confessions to hear."

It was the truth—his last one had just left.

"This late?" Dawn asked.

"Sometimes later," Claude informed her, "if the matter is urgent enough."

If she failed to believe him, she didn't say so. Squishie scratched at Claude's leg asking him to pet her.

"We should probably be going now," Esmeralda said, "we have work to do tomorrow."

"Thank you guys," Dawn said, hugging them both.

After they were gone, she turned to Claude. He was busy looking at the room—the changes she'd made were incredible. It was a room not used very often, but it had been scrubbed clean and some of the brighter-colored tapestries were hanging on the wall to add color. The cradle was in their room for when the baby was the smallest. In here, there was a bed for when the child got old enough to sleep on its own. Everything was bright and warm and clean.

"I see you've found something to do all day," he remarked.

"I had a lot of help," Dawn admitted. She slid into his arms. He held her there for a moment. Even in the dim light, he could see that there was more color in her face now.

She tilted her face up towards his and he took this as a signal to kiss her. For the last few months, she'd been feeling nothing but sick. Now that it wasn't tainting everything, he could feel heat in the kiss and his own body responded more than eagerly. His hands pulled her even closer until there was absolutely no air left between them.

The door suddenly banged open and he reluctantly broke the kiss and turned to look. One of the priests stood there, his face rapidly reddening as he realized he'd intruded.

"Oh…so sorry to bother you, Your Excellency, but we've got trouble downstairs."

Claude backed away from Dawn a couple of inches though he still held her.

"What kind of trouble?" he asked impatiently.

"There's been a break-in. The cook caught someone sneaking out of the kitchen with several armfuls of supplies. The thief got away."

Claude glanced over at Dawn.

"Don't look at me, I was right here," she teased.

"Could it have been someone you know?" he asked, not in a joking mood.

"If it was someone I hung out with, they'd have asked me," she answered, "most all of them know about the garden. And they definitely wouldn't have come this late."

Claude sighed irritably.

"I have an idea. Come on, Squishie."

The little dog jumped off the bed where she had made herself a nest and followed them.

"What are you going to do?" Claude asked.

She impatiently made the "come on" gesture. He followed her, though not understanding.

They reached the kitchen where the irate cook was griping about the missing supplies.

"Squishie, get a scent," Dawn instructed the dog. The cook stared at Dawn incredulously as if she'd lost her mind, but she didn't say anything. The little wheat-colored dog appeared to be tracing the thief's path. After a moment, a sketchy image formed in Dawn's mind. It was devoid of color or particular features, but Dawn could jut make out enough to matter.

"It's a girl," Dawn said, eyes closed, "about sixteen or seventeen…very, very pregnant, as in due any day now. She hasn't had a bath recently and Squishie couldn't smell a man's scent, so she's alone."

The cook frowned.

Claude stared. He had seen women in the later stages of pregnancy—how had she moved so fast?

"If she's a street girl, that explains a lot," Dawn said, answering his mental question, "she's used to having to do stuff this way. I think we should post a guard around the kitchen."

"Why?" Claude asked. It made more sense to merely bar the doors.

"We want to catch her," Dawn told him, "she may genuinely need help. We won't have her arrested or anything…we'll just let her know that she needs to ask for things. I've seen single women trying to raise kids on their own and it's Hell when you don't have help. I was almost afraid I'd end up one of them for a while…"

He knew she was referring to James.

"All right," he said quietly.

A little while later, a confused guard sat in a chair in the shadows. If someone came in, they wouldn't see him, but he could see them perfectly. The three or four guards would take turns. Claude had paid them generously for their trouble. Otherwise, everything was relatively quiet.

"Where were we?" Dawn asked casually after they'd come back up to their room.

The way she was looking at him both surprised him and made the heat flood his stomach. He joined her on the bed. Claude would never have admitted this for the world, but he'd been afraid that they would lose this part of their relationship once Dawn found out she was pregnant. She sensed caution in his touch.

"Don't worry," she whispered, "it won't feel anything. It won't hurt us."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

He wondered vaguely if the baby would remember anything and he hesitated a second time.

"What?" Dawn's voice had an edge of irritability to it.

"Well…"

He wasn't sure how to tell her and his face reddened.

"It won't remember anything," Dawn guessed, "and it won't feel us…the only thing it will sense is our love."

His blue-green eyes began to darken with lust. If she said it was okay, then…

There was a knock at the door. Claude hissed irritably.

"Damn it!" Dawn cursed.

Very quickly, they straightened up their clothing and Claude went to see what was so important.

"We caught the thief," one of the guards informed him, "shall we take her to the Bastille?"

Dawn pushed Claude aside, surprising him.

"Take her to one of the bedrooms," Dawn instructed him, "and keep watch—make sure she can't get out and doesn't escape. We'll deal with this crap in the morning."

Unused to being ordered around by a woman, the guard glanced at Claude, who nodded.

"As you wish," the guard replied. He left.

Dawn locked the door and turned to face Claude.

"Third time's a charm, right?" she asked.

She had never worked so hard to get a moment alone with him. Yes, being a priest's wife was rough, but it seemed that everybody wanted something from him. They wouldn't have much time to be alone after the baby was born.

The flame in his gut that had been present when they'd married burst back into life. There was a revival of the closeness and togetherness that they both so desperately needed. She lay with her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat as it slowly returned to normal.

Suddenly, she stiffened.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned.

She took his hand and pressed it against the slight swelling of her belly. At first, nothing happened. Then, he felt something _move._ Was he imagining it?

After a few seconds, he felt it again. Dawn giggled.

"He says 'hi'," Dawn told him. She sat up, looking down at the bump. A tiny wave on the side he'd been touching rippled across. Claude stared, his breath caught in his throat. The grin on Dawn's face was the secretive one that only a carrying mother would have.

Squishie bounded up on the bed, her favorite ball in her mouth. She was warm and still panting slightly from having chased the ball around the bell tower.

"Look, Squish!"

The dog tilted her head as if to say "look at what?"

Dawn closed her eyes for a moment. Claude couldn't tell if she was talking to Squishie or if Squishie was talking to her. Squishie wagged her tail and pressed her front paws against Dawn's belly.

"Arrooroorooroo!"

There was no mistaking the joy in the dog's bark. She ran a full three laps around the room before she finally got tired and settled in at the end of the bed. Dawn and Claude laughed at her.

"Silly thing," Dawn muttered, patting her. She wagged her tail, though that was the only part of her that moved. She was definitely going to be asleep in a few seconds. Dawn and Claude lay facing each other with their limbs intertwined.

"Good night, my love," Claude whispered.

"Good night," Dawn yawned. She fell asleep feeling his breath in her hair. She thought only fleetingly about the girl they had captured before she fell asleep.


	38. Chapter 38

There were things about life that Quasimodo was only just beginning to understand. He had been told that Dawn was going to have a baby, but he didn't really register how. He had been told by Claude that God gives babies to those who are meant to have children, but that was as far as Claude had ever gotten. Lately, he noticed that Dawn was getting rather…uh…fat.

It didn't escape his notice that her hands were on her stomach a lot. She seemed very proud of it and would smile at it every now and then. His master would touch it, too, and smile. One day, his curiosity finally overcame him and he had to ask.

"Why?" he finally said.

Dawn was surprised…she knew that Quasimodo had been sheltered, but she didn't realize just how far. She took his hand and placed it over her swelling abdomen. He felt something move and stared at it, puzzled.

"Feel that?" Dawn asked.

He nodded.

"That's the baby."

The mental image that entered his mind made him stare. Had she swallowed it?

"How did it get in there?" he wanted to know.

"Well…" she wasn't sure how much Claude would want her to tell him, "you might say that God put him there…there's a special place in a woman's body for us to carry the baby until its ready to come out. It's going to grow for a little while longer and come out when it's big enough."

The baby kicked.

"He's saying hello," Dawn said warmly. Quasimodo's nose was an inch away from her belly.

"Hello in there!" he called. Then, he had another question.

"How do you know whether it's a boy or a girl?" he asked.

Dawn shrugged.

"I'm guessing," she admitted, "but I just have a feeling."

"What's his name?" Quasimodo asked.

"We haven't picked one out yet," Dawn confessed, "we've been really busy. Did you see that girl that's been here today?"

He nodded.

"She's going to have a baby, too. Hers is almost ready to come out."

Quasimodo had been shocked to see that woman's baby belly—she looked like she'd pop any second. Her belly had resembled a melon stuffed down the front of her dress.

"Where is my master?"

It was almost time for Quasimodo's lessons, but with the recent chaos, they needed some time to work things out.

"He said to tell you he'd be up here later," Dawn informed him, "and just to get your chores done while you wait. If you're done early, you're welcome to go play with Squishie. I have to go downstairs now."

He nodded and watched her go.

Just last night, he'd heard a lot of shouting and gone downstairs to investigate. He'd seen three guards drag a dark-haired woman into one of the rooms and lock the door so she couldn't get out. He'd been told in no uncertain terms to get back to the bell tower. This morning, he had gone downstairs to ask what had happened. One of the older priests told Quasimodo that the girl had been caught stealing from the kitchens and that Claude and Dawn needed to decide what to do with her. It appeared as though she'd gotten herself into a major predicament. Quasimodo had tried to make friends with the girl, but she'd been rather hostile to him. Dawn told him not to worry about it, that she was only scared because of the situation. He took up his mop and began to mop the floors. He knew that the girl needed a friend, but it took at least two people to make friends. It was hard to be friends with someone that didn't want to be your friend—he knew that from experience.

Dawn descended the stairs and went back to the girl's room. All morning, that little rat had been screaming at the top of her lungs and throwing anything within reach. Dawn hoped she'd calmed down some since then.

She pressed her ear to the door. All she could hear was quiet crying. Dawn made the "open the door" gesture to the guard and he obeyed. Claude hadn't allowed Dawn to get close to her for fear that the girl would hurt her and the baby, but the men weren't getting through to her. In fact, it looked as though they were making matters worse.

She lay flung across the bed, her wild dark hair hiding her face completely. Dawn's nose wrinkled. She stunk horribly. Dawn resorted to breathing through her mouth as much as she could to keep from getting sick. The dress she wore was ragged and torn.

"Hey," Dawn said quietly.

The girl didn't look up. Squishie jumped up on the bed and began to lick the girl's hand.

"What do you want?" the girl choked out, her voice muffled by her arm.

"Well…not assaulting my husband would be a good place to start," Dawn replied.

The girl raised her head. Her eyes were still hidden, but Dawn could see part of her cheek.

"That man was your husband?" she sounded surprised.

"Long story," Dawn answered, "we're trying to help you, you know."

"By treating me like a common prisoner," the girl spat acidly.

Dawn wasn't phased by the bitterness in her voice at all.

"Well, I'd say it's better than being imprisoned, don't you think? Unless you'd rather have darkness, dampness, and rats…I hear they make good pets."

She was joking, but the humor was lost on the girl. The girl lay her head back down, though she did cautiously stroke Squishie's head.

_God bless that dog,_ Dawn thought, _she's got more patience than all of us put together._

"If you're going to have me arrested, then just do it," the girl said brokenly, all the life draining out of her voice, "it was only a matter of time anyway."

"Prisons aren't really the best place to have babies," Dawn commented, "I'd really rather you stayed here."

"And then you can turn us out afterward. The lot of you church people are all alike!"

Good God, this girl was a pessimist. Instead of jumping down her throat for saying such a thing, Dawn ventured closer.

"What happened?" she asked.

"What do you care?"

"I care because there are two lives at stake here," Dawn said calmly.

A silence.

"Let's get it out of the way," the girl sighed, "you're going to tell me I'm an unfit mother because I stole from the one place where I knew it wouldn't be missed much. I have nothing to offer this child and I don't want it. There. That's the ugly truth. I don't want your damn pity. I just want out of here and to be on my way."

"Where's the father?" Dawn asked.

"Gone. In another town. Somewhere I refuse to return to."

"Husband? Boyfriend?"

"Complete stranger."

The same thing had happened to a friend of Dawn's when she'd been on the rebound from a broken heart. Like a drug, it had stopped the pain, but at a terrible price.

"What about you? Any family members you could stay with?"

"None. I've been disowned."

"That sucks," Dawn said sympathetically.

"I've always been alone in the world," the girl commented flatly, "they merely made it official."

"Sorry."

"I'm used to it. I hate men. Beastly, ghastly things. They live only to tell us what to do and satisfy their urges. If they didn't want those two things, they'd have no need of us."

"Not all of them," Dawn objected, "some of them are genuinely good…they're just very hard to find. I almost gave up, too. Then, there was Claude. I've never met anyone else that cares about people the way he does."

The girl made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

"Just wait until you make him angry enough," she muttered, "it will pass."

Dawn sighed. The girl was beginning to frustrate her. It was hard to believe that she'd intended to work with children and teenagers those distant years ago when she'd earned her degree.

"Let's make a deal," Dawn said finally, realizing she wasn't going to change the girl's mind, "you and your baby can stay here and we'll help you get back on your feet. In exchange for that, all you have to do is try to act like a civilized human being. These guys won't hurt you. So help me, if any of them touches you, I'll go after them myself. Have your baby here and then see if you change your mind about keeping it. If you still don't want it, we'll take it and either find it a good home or raise it ourselves."

The girl finally looked up at her.

"What's the catch?" she asked darkly.

"The catch is that you can't leave the grounds," Dawn told her, "you're far along enough now that it's not a good idea to wander off. We want you to stay where you're safe. If you can agree to that, then we'll get you something to eat, a bath, and some clean clothes."

She stared at Dawn as if trying to figure out if this was some sort of a trick.

"You swear on everything…this cathedral, your baby, your husband, and all of the priests?" she asked warily.

"I swear." Dawn drew an X over her heart before crossing herself; it was a habit she'd gotten into after being around Claude.

"All right," the girl said reluctantly, "I'll stay, but I'm going to leave when I can walk again."

"Fair enough. You got a name?"

"My name is Marie."

"I'll be back," Dawn told her.

She had a feeling that her deal wouldn't go over as well with Claude. They already had one baby on the way, but two…? She prayed that he wouldn't be too upset with her. After having some bath water and food sent up to the girl, she retrieved one of her old dresses. It would be loose everywhere but the belly, but it was clean and mended. She had that sent upstairs, too. She'd missed Mass this morning, but she was sure that Claude would forgive her.

"You look as though you've been up to something," he remarked.

"You could say that."

She slid into his embrace.

"Was it the girl?"

She nodded.

"What happened?"

"I cut a deal with her. You don't have to worry about bodily harm anymore," Dawn said with a grin, "I made her swear she wouldn't attack anyone."

"How did you get her to listen?"

"Sit down. I'll tell you all about it."

They had gone to the kitchen for lunch. After they'd received their food and the blessing was said, Dawn hungrily devoured a few bites.

"I told her to stay here and have the baby," Dawn said, "and not to go wandering off. I said if she still didn't want it that we'd take it."

Claude choked and took a moment to regain his capacity to breathe. He stared at her.

"You what?"

"I said if she didn't want it after it was born that we would take it," Dawn repeated.

"Do you realize what you've done? You're telling her that it's perfectly fine to abandon her child!" Claude said sharply.

Dawn reached across the table to touch his hand. She knew how strong his feelings were about things like this.

"I know it's not the best," Dawn said quietly, trying to de-escalate the situation somewhat, "but why make the kid suffer? For all we know, she'll go off and kill it. Or, she'll be a crappy mother and be mean to the kid. Do you really want to risk that? If we take the kid, then we can find somebody who really loves babies and can't have one of their own. The kid gets a good, stable home and parents that love it. Besides, Marie may change her mind…some mothers don't realize they love their babies until they're born and they hold them for the first time."

The doubt in Claude's eyes still lingered, but she felt and saw the tension draining out of his body. He couldn't very well argue with her…not when she put it that way. Dawn loved children and she hated to see them suffer for the sins of their parents when they couldn't choose their parents.

"And if we can't find the child a home?" he asked uneasily.

The look on Dawn's face gave him his answer. He could see the stubbornness in her dark eyes.

"We'll find it a home," she answered, her tone loaded, "period."

His stomach clenched and he was thinking the same thing she was thinking earlier. They would be new parents…but really, two babies? One, he knew, was enough work on its own.

"Nothing I say is going to change your mind…" it was halfway between a statement and a question.

"Afraid not," Dawn apologized.

"You care too much."

"I'm a priest's wife, that's my job."

He smiled and she did, too. He squeezed her hand.

"And Marie? What of her?"

Dawn shrugged.

"I made her swear to stay until the baby's born so that we know they're both safe, but she says she's leaving quote 'when she can walk again'. We can't keep her here indefinitely," Dawn lamented, "I hate to see her go off on her own and think that she's totally alone in the world. I've lived that way myself and it's a very rough place to be. The only thing we can do is show her love…even though she's an unwavering pessimist."

His thumb caressed circles into the back of her hand.

"Have I told you today how much I love you?"

"Not since this morning." Dawn grinned. He pecked her on the cheek and they finished their meal in companionable silence.


	39. Chapter 39

Dawn sighed and paced back and forth. She was restless, the child in her womb was restless, and so was the storm outside. Marie had gone into labor about five days after arriving at the cathedral. It had been nearly three days and still the baby had not come. The midwife did not vent her frustration, but she was certainly feeling it. Lucie had mixed up some concoction to try and help the labor along. Claude pretended he didn't see it as she carried into Marie's room.

"Any progress at all?" he asked wearily when Dawn emerged.

Dawn sighed.

"The midwife says she's dilated enough, but something's wrong. All that's been coming was blood and more blood."

She dropped her voice so that Marie (and any other eavesdroppers would not hear).

"Just between you and me, I think the baby's ectopic."

"Ectopic?" Claude asked, bewildered.

"Outside the uterus," Dawn answered, "usually, they don't survive past three months' conception, but I've heard of two or three cases of full-term pregnancies."

"But if the baby isn't…there, then how does it get out?" Claude asked.

Dawn's face was grim.

"It doesn't. Not without surgery."

Claude's face went ashen.

"What about Marie?"

Dawn shrugged.

"Depends on where the baby attached to…I honestly don't know. We don't have the technology to fix it if the baby's stuck to any vital organs."

The midwife came hurrying outside.

"Last rites," she said quickly, "now!"

The sinking nausea in Dawn's gut told her that this was not good news. Claude swallowed hard and the mask fell firmly into place. Marie stared at him, glassy-eyed, through the pain.

"Help me!" she gasped.

Claude performed her last rites and Marie began to shudder and cry weakly. She clung to Claude, begging him to help her. She apologized for all the nasty things she'd said to him. Dawn's heart wrenched in sympathy: this girl was younger than she was.

"I heard there was a bit of trouble," a familiar voice said. Marie stopped crying into Claude's shoulder and looked up. Shadow stood in the doorway. Behind him were Michael and Grace. Dawn's face lit in recognition.

"May I?" Shadow asked gently.

Marie reluctantly released her grip on Claude.

"Everyone out," Shadow said crisply, "this will take a delicate touch."

Claude wrapped one arm around Dawn's shoulders and steered her towards the door. Normally, she'd chew him out whenever he did that, but she allowed him to do it this time.

"I feel so bad for her," Dawn said sympathetically, "I was just like her at one point."

Claude's eyes were dark with empathic pain and nervousness.

"How do you deal with it? When you know somebody's going to die?" Dawn asked. It was something she hadn't thought of until now. She had seen him perform last rites before, but she wanted to know how he dealt with it on the inside.

He sat beside her on the stairs and stroked Squishie's head. The dog whined, looking towards the door. Dawn knew it was because she smelled blood and was afraid for Marie.

"Well…I can honestly say it never gets easier," Claude confessed, "the best we can do is keep them calm and try to ease their minds. Violent deaths are very hard to bear…the only thing we can really do for them is to pray and ease their passage from this world to the next."

Dawn rested her head against his shoulder. She inhaled his comforting scent and soaked in the warmth of his presence.

"And what about afterwards?" Dawn asked.

"We try to think about how we were there for them, that they didn't die by themselves…that, if they were truly saved, they are in God's presence and will never want for anything again."

A scream echoed through the hall and Dawn cringed.

"The hardest thing I ever had to do was visit a mother who had a miscarriage," Claude continued, "the child was little more than three or four months…it had only just begun to look human. It was tiny with skin like glass…but the mother didn't want to let go of it. She died a few days later…the doctor said she had developed an infection, but I think she died of a broken heart."

"That must have been rough," Dawn admitted, one hand protectively over her belly, "I've been praying that ours will be all right."

A warm smile spread over his features.

"It will," he said gently, "I'm sure of it."

His hand caressed the bump in her abdomen. He felt movement just below the shell of skin and fabric that kept the baby safe.

"And you're sure it's a boy?" Claude asked.

"Pretty sure. In our family, if you get sick like I did, it's always a boy. Girls don't tend to make their mamas ill twenty times a day. Besides, I just have a feeling. I hope we get at least one with your eyes."

Shadow emerged from the room, a small bundle in his arms. One pink arm had freed itself and was moving in protest. The baby was crying, but it sounded awfully weak.

"How's Marie?" Dawn asked cautiously.

"Resting," Shadow said, grinning slightly, "fortunately, it wasn't that bad. The baby was only stuck…she was laying across instead of head-down. Still, it's an intervention I was happy to make. Keep her in bed for a few days and make sure she gets plenty of rest, food, and drink. She'll pull through."

Dawn's relief was evident when her shoulders sagged. She accepted the tiny bundle. When she raised her head to look at Shadow, but the Trio was gone.

"How does he do that?" she muttered.

Claude suppressed a smile.

"You're so little," Dawn remarked to the newborn, "like a little sugar sack…and just as sweet, I bet."

At first, Claude wasn't sure what to think. He saw a wrinkly red face and an odd tuft of dark hair. How was it that most women thought babies were beautiful?  
"Say 'hi Claude, this is your future'," Dawn told the infant as she eased her into Claude's arms.

One tiny red hand grasped Claude's finger and what felt like an electric shock ran through his nerves. There was such strength in that little hand…for a baby who could have died, she was so strong…

Suddenly, Claude understood why women carried on so much. Though his head understood that there was one of these inside Dawn's body, his heart suddenly did as well. All at once, he was very warm and very scared at the same time. Something no bigger than a grain of sand, maybe even smaller, would grow into one of these and come out to face the world. The gravity of this hit him like a tidal wave and he was suddenly drowning in love for both this child and the one that he and Dawn had made. His son or daughter would need protection and love…

Dawn smiled warmly. Seeing Claude with the baby melted her heart and she cleared her throat so that the errant tears wouldn't escape. Instead, she smiled.

"You look good with a baby," she remarked.

"So do you."

"I guess it doesn't matter that we have no idea what we're getting into."

"I suppose not."

Squishie tried to lick the baby in the face, but Dawn caught her before she could.

"Not yet, Squish. You have to wait until she's big enough to handle your kisses."

Squishie settled for licking the baby's hand, mostly to spite Dawn. Dawn hugged the dog to her chest.

"You little rat. Jealous, huh? I bet you'll be a good big sister, though."

Squishie wagged her tail.

"Dawn?" Marie's voice floated down the hall weakly.

Dawn got up to see what she wanted.

The sight was gut-wrenching, but Dawn's face stayed still. She pretended not to see the blood-soaked rags or how pale Marie looked.

"I didn't get to see…what was it?" Marie asked weakly.

"A girl," Dawn answered, "Claude's got her."

"All I could think of was how much she was hurting me," Marie admitted, "but I heard her cry…and I still hurt…but I didn't care so much…"

Dawn smiled.

"You should try to get some sleep. You've had a rough three days," Dawn told her.

"I want my baby."

Without arguing, Dawn retrieved her. This was a good sign, she thought. If she already thought about her daughter this way, it was promising. Maybe she wouldn't keep her negative attitudes.

Once the baby was secured in Marie's arms, Marie unwrapped the blanket to study her. Ten fingers, ten toes. Two legs. Two arms. Everything was in the right spot and nothing was missing.

"So…you're the one who's been tossing around in there," Marie remarked, "I expect you like having the extra room out here."

Dawn could swear that the baby smiled.

"Don't think I've gone soft because I've decided to keep you," Marie told her daughter, "you will learn to have a better life than I have. First, we'll start with a name…Brat doesn't become you, does it?"

Claude stood in the doorway, his sky-blue eyes twinkling. Dawn sent him an answering look.

"We'll give you a good, respectable name…how about Ruth? Ruth was one of the toughest women in the Bible. That archdeacon doesn't think I've been listening during my lessons, but we'll show him, won't we?"

Dawn and Claude slipped from the room with conspiratorial grins. The new mother and daughter needed time alone. Dawn was ready for a nap. Claude agreed with her. Squishie played with her ball between Claude and Dawn's room and Marie's, ready to alert the couple if Marie needed anything. The small bells were chiming in the tower to signal the new life that had just come into the world.


	40. Chapter 40

_Five Months Later…_

Claude fought the urge to rush down the stairs even though they were short on time. Behind him, Dawn followed. She was moving awkwardly, weighted down by the baby belly.

"Are you sure you want to come?" Claude asked gently. As his wife, she felt obligated to come to Mass, but he understood that the baby was due soon. Dawn had officially reached the nine-month mark last week.

"I'll be fine," Dawn assured him, "there will be plenty of time to lay around once the baby comes."

He fought the urge to smile. Dawn had been an absolute nightmare to deal with when she was recovering from her broken ankle. Restless and bored, she simply would not stay in bed. They descended into the sanctuary and Dawn got herself situated in the front row. Squishie whined and scratched at her leg.

"What is it?" Dawn whispered. Squishie tilted her head. Squishie seemed unable to tell her what was going on, but she seemed worried. Dawn patted the spot beside her and the dog jumped up into the seat beside her. Claude got things started.

At first, it was easy to pay attention to him. He had a soothing, melodic voice even when it raised slightly in passion. Ironically enough, he was talking about husbands, wives, and their relation to God. Though not everyone understood the Latin, she could understand due to the amulet. Claude had been teaching her different languages in case they ever had another mishap like the one almost a year ago—she practiced them every night though she sometimes got bored. It was important to him, she knew, and she didn't want him to worry. He'd been an absolute pain in the butt at times during this pregnancy…she knew it was out of love, so she let it slide.

About halfway through the service, Dawn was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. Squishie whined again and Dawn hissed at her to be quiet. A few of the congregation members glanced over at her. She shifted, trying to ease the ache in her back. Damn these hard wooden benches…she made a mental note to have Claude put a cushion down here for her until the baby arrived.

After she'd squirmed again for the third time, she heard Claude's voice falter. During those few moments, it had faded into the background. The baby kicked and Dawn pressed a hand to the side of her stomach. She stared at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Beside her, Jehan gave her a questioning look. Dawn sucked in a slow, deep breath. Squishie whined again and Dawn gave her a Look.

"_Stop it!_" she hissed irritably. Squishie lay her head down sullenly. More people were looking at her now. Suddenly, Dawn felt like screaming. She wasn't sure why…she suddenly felt very ill-tempered. Maybe it was because this nagging ache wouldn't go away…

After a few minutes, it subsided somewhat and Dawn relaxed a little. She slumped back a little bit, relieved. Then, after a few more minutes, the ache returned. The amulet around her neck flashed a dull gray. The pain increased, this time affecting her belly as well. It felt like a solid band was constricting across her belly. She winced visibly and heard Claude pause for a moment. This time, her eyes did meet his.

Claude's heart began to pound. He knew something was wrong. Her dark eyes seemed dull, but she smiled weakly. He reluctantly continued to talk, though he looked at her the rest of the time. At last, it was over and the congregation streamed out of the room. The smell of food wafted from the kitchen, but it didn't appeal to Dawn in the least.

"What's the matter?" he asked her.

Dawn opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come. The pain was steadily getting stronger with each wave. The world seemed blurry and out of focus to her right now. Squishie whined again, but Dawn didn't scold her this time. She couldn't.

"I think she's going into labor," Esmeralda's voice said from somewhere beside her. The last thing Dawn saw before her vision blurred again were Claude's turquoise-colored eyes. It hurt badly enough that she couldn't seem to catch her breath. She was vaguely aware of them debating on where they should take her.

"I'm fine, I just—_ah…Son of a…_"

She bit off the curse before it came all the way out. Though she was sure that Claude would forgive her, she didn't want to curse. She was aware of them trying to move her. Dawn tried to stand, but her legs felt like water. She sank to her knees on the cold stone with a shudder. She was vaguely aware of being carried up the stairs, vaguely aware of hearing Claude ask her where she wanted to go. She could feel him next to her, but it was as if this was all just a dream.

As they struggled to get Dawn shifted around, he felt a gush of warmth against his leg. Cold fear filled his stomach with ice.

"Don't panic," Esmeralda told him, "the water's broken, that's all. It's supposed to happen."

There was blood as well. Seeing Dawn's blood made him feel sick and dizzy, but he swallowed it back. Now was no time to be a weakling…he was the husband and she needed him. The amulet was now pulsating a steady gray.

"Will somebody please…get…Lucie," Dawn gasped, her hand pressed to her belly.

"I'll get her," Pierre offered. They eased Dawn onto the bed. She promptly curled up on her side where she could roll into a ball. Claude ran his cool, soothing fingers across her hot, sweaty cheek. Jehan had gone to get a midwife. Through her blurring vision, she could see that Claude's face had turned to ash. She wanted to calm him, to assure him that it was going to be all right, but she wasn't entirely convinced herself.

She felt Claude gather her up in his arms as she cried into his shoulder. He rubbed her back and her belly and told her how brave she was and how much he loved her. She could feel him trembling and willed herself to stop crying, but it didn't quite work. Sometimes things went all right in the Middle Ages, sometimes it didn't. Her eyes locked onto Claude's turquoise eyes. She saw his lips move and was vaguely aware that he was singing to her.

_Je sais ton amour  
Je sais l'eau versée sur mon corps  
Sentir son cours jour aprčs jour  
J'ai remonté les tourments pour m'approcher encore  
J'ai ton désir ancré sur le mien  
J'ai ton désir ancré ŕ mes chevilles  
Viens, rien ne nous retient ŕ rien  
Tout ne tient qu'ŕ nous_

She felt Lucie's bony hand grab her chin and pour something in her mouth. Dawn made a face—the stuff was a nightmare to her tastebuds. Trying not to gag, she forced herself to swallow. Within a few minutes, the pain subsided until it felt like nothing more than a monthly cramp. This, she decided, she could deal with. The midwife arrived shortly after. Dawn felt strange and otherworldly as if she were detached from the situation.

"Madame, I appreciate that you want some room, but I am not leaving my wife," Claude argued firmly when the midwife tried to coax him out of the room. Dawn felt strangely sleepy and she had to struggle to pay attention. She tried to speak, but her tongue stayed lazily at the bottom of her mouth. She felt Claude's arms around her middle.

"Yes, the head is down in the birth canal," the midwife remarked, "push, lady!"

Dawn stupidly realized that the midwife was talking to her. She bore down as hard as she could. She lost track of how many times she was told to. For a while, the pressure increased and it became unbearable. She felt Claude's breath on her ear. He whispered encouragement to her, but she didn't understand him. The midwife, Lucie, and Esmeralda melted away into a fog. For right now, there was only her and Claude. Despite him being fully pressed against her back, he even felt strangely far away. Dawn felt faint and numb as if she were merely a ghost haunting a struggling body. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears.

The pressure released. Her whole body relaxed and she went limp against her husband's strong arms. She heard voices all around, but she couldn't make sense of what they were saying. She only vaguely wondered what on earth Lucie had given her to make her this drugged…

"What's the matter with her?" Claude asked Lucie.

"Nothing that won't be over soon," Lucie assured her, "but she's not in pain."

They cleaned her up and changed the bed. Once Dawn was back under the covers, the midwife brought the baby to her.

A strange, shrill sound sliced through the fog that Dawn was lost in. She turned her head towards the sound. A small bundle was placed in her arms. Her eyes slowly came to rest on the round, red face amongst the white folds of the blanket.

_This was in me…Claude and I did this…_her drugged brain managed to think, _us…together…_

"We have a son, just like you said we would," Claude whispered, voice quivering with joy and wonderment.

_A boy…_

Dawn's lips made contact with the tiny cheek that was still warm from her body. One little arm had managed to escape the folds of the blanket and its fingers wrapped around her thumb. There was so much strength in that tiny hand that it seemed more like magic and myth than reality.

_Mine…ours…_

Slowly, the fog lifted and Dawn became more aware of her surroundings. She was wearing a cream-colored long-sleeved nightgown. Claude was sitting beside her on the bed with his arm around her and one hand on the baby. The midwife was talking to Esmeralda and Lucie was reciting a prayer in a foreign tongue.

"Don't worry," Dawn whispered to Claude, "she's praying to Jesus."

His cheek was resting on the top of her head. It was heaven to be surrounded by him. The baby's tiny hand grasped Claude's finger.

"You need to rest," the midwife told her.

Dawn managed to argue weakly, but she only vaguely saw Claude lift the baby out of her arms. She allowed her eyes to close once she realized that Claude had him.

_We'll think of names later._

The following morning, Dawn would learn that she'd been in labor for several hours though she didn't feel the worst of it. Claude would not name the baby himself without her opinion. She had slept through Quasimodo ringing the bells continuously to announce the birth of his foster father's son and his new brother. Thankfully, there was much more to come that she wouldn't miss.


	41. Chapter 41

A/N: Sorry for the horrendously long wait. Life has thrown me several curve-balls lately. I can't decide if I want to stop here or keep going: you guys tell me what you'd like to see as far as endings. I will eventually finish the rest of the HOND fictions I started this summer, it's just going to take a little longer.

As Dawn slept, Claude sat beside her and cradled their newborn son. Though the baby's eyes wouldn't stay open for long, the baby opened its eyes for one precious second. It was a shock to see his own eyes staring back at him, though they were glazed and unfocused. Already, Claude could see the beginnings of Dawn's golden hair adorning the baby's head.

He could have sworn he couldn't have been any happier when he and Dawn were married. Once again, he had been proven wrong. Their baby began to whimper and he instinctively brought him closer to his heart. He had been wrong about almost everything, but that in itself was a blessing. Pressing his lips to the baby's forehead, he was amazed at how much heat the little boy gave off.

Squishie ventured closer, tilting her head and raising one ear. He knew she wouldn't hurt the baby, so he said nothing when she jumped up on the bed. She sniffed at the baby and gave him a very big, wet dog kiss right on the cheek. Claude wasn't sure whether to laugh or be disgusted. The little wheat-colored dog settled in beside Dawn lay down with a sigh.

"That makes two of us," Claude answered. Though he'd done very little besides hold Dawn today, he felt weak and drained of energy as well. His head slumped forward and he slept a little as well. He woke when the baby whimpered weakly. Before he knew it, the whimper had escalated into a full-blown cry. Dawn stirred beside him, blinking against the heavy haziness of a deep sleep. The midwife would stay until it was clear there were no complications from the birth. She came in after a moment to show Dawn how to feed the baby.

"This is really awkward," Dawn admitted. Claude said nothing. He had moved to the window to look out at the street below. Dawn could see his ears reddening and stifled the urge to laugh. After a few awkward moments, their son was full and getting ready to drift off again.

Once she'd adjusted the collar of her nightgown again, Claude ventured a look over his shoulder. Seeing that she was covered, he came to sit in the chair by the bed.

"Are you still hurting?" he asked uneasily.

"A little," Dawn admitted, "it will pass."

He kissed her on the cheek. Her hand cupped his chin and she kissed him on the mouth. After witnessing the birth for himself, he felt a stab of guilt for the stab of lust that shot through him. She smiled warmly as her dark eyes met his. Her face was still flushed from the exhaustion and exertion of bringing the baby into the world, but she had never looked more beautiful.

It wasn't long after that Pierre and Esmeralda came to stay at the cathedral. Esmeralda was due any day now. Claude and Dawn had finally decided on a name for their week-old son by then—Malachi. It meant "Messenger from God".

"We have decided on Celeste if it's a girl," Esmeralda informed Dawn, "because it means 'heaven'. I haven't decided if it's a boy."

"It's a girl," Dawn said dismissively.

She was right. On an unseasonably cold morning, Celeste slipped into the world while Pierre paced and fretted and Claude tried to calm him. Lucie had made a snide remark under her breath about how "healthy" both men were. Claude and Pierre both flushed and pretended they hadn't heard her. Dawn was calmly cradling Malachi against her chest.

"It's going to be all right," she said to no one in particular.

The thin, piercing wail followed and Pierre, unable to wait any longer, rushed into the room. He was so excited that he could hardly wait for Celeste to be cleaned off before he kissed her. Esmeralda's pained expression slowly faded into a smile.

Claude wrapped one arm around Dawn's shoulder and she leaned against him. They stood in the doorway and watched Pierre exclaim over the perfection of his new daughter.

"So…we have a Messenger," Dawn remarked, "and we have Heaven. If Celeste and Malachi get married, they could be Heaven's Messengers!"

The look on Claude's face made her giggle.

"I can appreciate the sentiment, love, but I'd rather you didn't talk marriage this early…"

"Why is it that I love her so much," Pierre commented, "and yet, I still just don't feel ready for her?"

"You can't be ready enough," Marie remarked, "there's no such thing as ready enough."

"You can say that again," Dawn agreed.

"Don't worry," Esmeralda told Pierre, "we'll learn together, just like Dawn and Claude."

"I'm so thrilled I could just burst into song!" Dawn announced, "Take Chi, Claude. I'm going to go get the guitar!"

She hurried off down the hallway. Claude watched her retreating back and shook his head. Even in motherhood, some things never changed. She returned with the guitar and settled into the chair.

"I suppose you'll be teaching him how to play it," Claude sighed.

Dawn paused from tuning the guitar.

"Why? Is that a problem?" she asked.

"We'll never have peace and quiet again," he teased, "because one of you is inevitably awake."

Everyone chuckled. Dawn shook her head.

"I saw you messing with it the other day when you thought I wasn't paying any attention," she accused.

"I was trying to figure out how make it quiet," he argued.

Dawn and Esmeralda looked at each other and laughed.

"I know you can read," she said, "so you have no excuse. Did it register once that the volume knob right here might be what you wanted?"

After a few more good-natured teasing remarks at each other, Dawn began to play.


	42. Chapter 42

"They make it look easy, don't they?" Dawn mumbled to Squishie as she paced the floor. Malachi had something wrong with him. He didn't have a fever, he wasn't hungry or wet, and nothing she did seemed to placate him. She'd sang to him, played her guitar, rubbed his little back, and nothing seemed to work. As she paced the floor, she could feel her patience wearing thinner. The baby had been crying for three hours straight.

Dawn turned him so that he was facing her.

"What do you want? Please tell me before I lose my mind," she begged.

Malachi did not seem to know what was bothering him either. Just great…

Claude emerged from his office and looked every bit as frustrated as Dawn felt.

"What's the matter with him?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he did when he was trying to ward off a headache.

"I don't know," Dawn sighed, "he won't tell me. I've tried everything."

"I can't work with all the noise," Claude said stiffly.

"I know," Dawn replied irritably, "tell that to the screaming kid."

"Let me see him."

Dawn gratefully relinquished their son. Though Malachi's wailing slowed down for a few seconds, he immediately started up again.

"There must be something else that you haven't tried yet," Claude muttered as he paced back and forth, bouncing Malachi slightly to try and ease his crying.

Something inside Dawn snapped.

"You of all people ought to know that mothers and fathers aren't born with instructions," she said icily, "I've tried to feed him and he won't latch. I've already changed his diaper, burped him, rubbed his belly, checked him for fever, sang and played for him, tried to get him to sleep, and so on and so on. If you can figure it out, then you deserve a medal."

Needing to escape for a few moments, she stalked out of the hallway and descended down the stairs. Claude watched her retreating back with an odd feeling in his stomach.

"What was that all about?" Jehan asked, having walked past her on the stairs.

"The baby won't stop crying and she's upset about it," Claude answered, "she claims to have tried everything she can think of and that Malachi won't tell her what he's upset about."

Jehan looked down at the screaming baby.

"I should be used to this…you would do the same thing sometimes," Claude joked dryly, "I don't know how on earth I got through my studies."

Jehan grinned.

"Causing you trouble even before I could walk," he sighed, "those were the days…what did you used to do then?"

Claude tried to remember. He had done the same things that Dawn had done. It was right after they had lost their parents—Jehan seemed to sense that something was wrong and was inconsolable for days. Unfastening his outer robe, he pressed Malachi in close to his chest where the baby could hear his heartbeat. The screaming slowed to a mere crying fit and then gradually died away.

"It worked…" Claude's voice was loaded with surprise.

Jehan was grinning smugly.

"What?" Claude asked, almost afraid to ask.

"Have you ever wondered why a woman's breasts are up so high and not on her belly like other animals?" Jehan asked.

Claude shot him a warning look that said _we're in a church!_

"So that they would hold their babies close to their hearts," Jehan said quickly, "what did you think I was going to say?"

"When you were younger, there were several possibilities and none of them good."

He started off to go find Dawn, but Jehan's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"He's sleeping. Leave him be," Jehan objected, "besides, she needs a break. If you don't take care of him at least some of the time, she'll grow resentful. I promise you that you'll be glad you gave her a break."

Though Claude had been raised all his life to believe that anything child-related was solely a woman's responsibility, he nodded. Nothing about their marriage had been traditional or ordinary to begin with, so why stop now?

"All right. Since he's asleep, I'm going back into my office. Would you please go tell Dawn that I'll keep him until he wakes up?"

Jehan nodded.

"Tell her she can go out for a little while if she wants."

Rather than search all the way through the cathedral for Dawn, Jehan went straight up to Quasimodo's tower and asked the hunchback where Dawn was. He steered him to one of the balconies and pointed.

Dawn was out in the garden with Squishie. She knelt in the grass and stroked her faithful companion's coat. Jehan made his way down there.

Dawn was having a gripe-fest to Squishie.

"You know, being a mom's nice and all, but sometimes I really miss the days when it was you and me against the world," she told the dog, "I used to never have to ask permission to go anywhere or do anything, I could just do it. I could sleep and eat when I wanted and I could dress how I wanted. Now that I'm a preacher's wife, all that's gone. I have all these standards to meet. And everybody expects me to be the perfect mother."

Squishie nuzzled her hand in sympathy.

"I love Claude and I love Malachi," she sighed, "but they're driving me nuts right now. Claude doesn't seem to realize that mothers don't come with an instruction manual. I'm just so sick of the screaming…and when he's up and walking and I have to do things like potty-training and stuff…ugh…it's only going to get worse…"

Squishie licked Dawn's cheek.

"Thanks for listening," Dawn sighed, "you're the only one I feel like I can tell everything to."

She kissed Squishie's forehead. She knew her poor little dog had been feeling neglected for some time now and she felt guilty about it. Squishie had been there before anybody else and she would never abandon Dawn no matter what happened.

She didn't know how to tell Claude that she missed performing in the square or in front of the cathedral. She didn't know how to tell him that she dearly missed their time together when they would just lie in bed and talk. She especially didn't know how to tell him that she felt frazzled, exhausted, and unattractive because he seemed a little afraid to make love to her again. It had been over three months now; that was usually how long it took for one's body to heal after childbirth. Autumn had come to Paris and it would soon be winter again. She craved Claude's affection. She knew he was tired, too. She knew he was preoccupied with cathedral matters, especially since they were running the garden in the back now and the ministry had expanded beyond the cathedral walls. He was carrying an awfully big load on his shoulders. She'd stayed in the background with Malachi and tried to keep out of his way so as not to add to his frustrations.

Every couple went through spells like this, she knew. The key to getting through them was not to give up and to choose your fights wisely. The mothers on television at home had made it look easy. Apparently, there were a lot of things that the producers of the shows had left out.

"There you are," Jehan's voice cut through her mental pity-party, "Claude said to tell you he'll keep the baby for now and that you can rest."

Dawn glanced up at him.

"Oh."

It sounded stupid, but she was vaguely surprised. Had Malachi merely sensed her frustrations and settled down after she left? If so, she was going to have to work on that.

"I take it that he finally settled down?"

"Yes."

"How?"  
"He held him against his heart where Malachi could hear the beat. He swears that used to work on me when I was still an infant."

Dawn stared. Why hadn't she thought of that.

"Well then," she muttered, feeling a little grumpy but not knowing why.

"Why don't you get out of the cathedral today? You haven't been outside these walls very much since the baby was born. It might make you feel better."

Dawn nodded. She knew exactly what she was going to do. Jehan watched her and Squishie dash back inside.

A little while later, Dawn had changed into one of her older dresses that she rarely wore anymore. It was the black one with the white and red trim that she'd worn the day she'd escorted Jehan here. Her hair had gotten quite long since she'd arrived here, so she took it out of its braid and brushed it out. It cascaded down her back now and fell in glossy tight waves from being braided so much. She retrieved her guitar and she and Squishie left the cathedral.

Though it was common practice for married women to wear head coverings, Dawn had never obeyed this rule, but she got a lot of stares now. Her dress was a little tight since childbirth had added to an already generous bust. She hadn't thought of that until now and shoved away the wave of self-consciousness. The ring on her finger and the fact that she was married to one of the most powerful men in Paris would discourage any unwanted attention.

The gypsies were glad to see her again. She greeted all of them before she began to play and some of the others began to dance. A boy in the crowd, probably a tiny bit younger than she was, was smiling flirtatiously. She winked at him and he flushed red all the way down to his toes. He threw a generous handful of coins into her case. She played a slow, sultry melody that drew whistles and comments from the younger men that didn't know who she was. Even the ones her age and older couldn't help but spare an appreciating look. She began to feel a lot more like herself again. For a brief spell, she had pushed it aside that she was married and had a squalling baby at home.

She wasn't the only one who had tossed it out of her mind. Shortly after she'd decided that she'd had enough of the noise and the crowd, she put the guitar back in the case and was going to head back to the cathedral when the shy-looking boy intercepted her.

"I love your music," he said, blushing deeply, "and I've never seen a prettier woman than you."

Dawn's stage persona had already evaporated and she suddenly felt awkward, though she couldn't figure out why.

"Thank you."

She tried to step past him, but he was still in her way.

"I have to go home now," she said, "my husband is probably expecting me."

"You're married?"

Dawn glanced down at her hand. She'd forgotten to put her ring back on after giving Malachi a bath this morning.

_Oops…_

"Yes, I am."

Dawn tried to step around him, but his hand landed on her arm.

"Dude, seriously, let go."

Two other boys, rowdy-looking and slightly drunk, joined them.

"He'll never notice," the red-faced boy said, "I'm that good."

All Hell broke loose. Dawn struggled to try and break his grip. She swung her case around and the guitar whacked loudly against him. He cursed and the other two boys jumped at her. They wrestled the guitar away from her and tossed it to the curb. Then, she was being dragged away. She nearly yelled, but one of them grabbed her at the throat and the sound died in her crushed windpipe.

Esmeralda had just so happened to be at the right place at the right time. She ran to get Pierre.

"I'll get us some more help," Pierre told her, "you go and tell the archdeacon!"

As fast as her slender legs could carry her, she tucked her baby in close to her chest and sprinted towards the cathedral.


	43. Chapter 43

Before Esmeralda had a chance to finish telling the rest of the story, Claude was away from his desk and bolting out the door. She was left holding Malachi in her free arm as Jehan took off after him. Sighing, she supposed she was left on baby-sitting duty. She hoped that Dawn was all right.

"What was all that about?" Marie asked, coming up the stairs, "Claude looked rather murderous just now."

"Dawn's gotten herself into some trouble," Esmeralda told her, still somewhat out of breath, "and he's going to get her back."

Marie brought her a glass of water. The two of them sat in the sanctuary with the babies and waited on the men and Dawn to get back. She told Marie what she had seen.

Dawn had been trying, unsuccessfully, to get away from the three drunken boys. While she could hold her own in a one-on-one fight, they still managed to overpower her. When it was beginning to look ugly, she realized that she would have to switch tactics.

"Try that again and I'll have to teach you a lesson in respect!" the boy was no longer sweet and shy. He was furious as he held one of her wrists in a vise-like grip. She'd tried to strike at him, but he was too quick. Realizing fully well that there was a dagger in his belt and that he might not miss it, she arranged her face into the best seductive smile she could manage under the circumstances.

"I might be a little more accommodating if you'd get those two ugly friends of yours out of here," she told him, "I don't like people watching."

Scowling, he began to debate on whether or not this was a trick. Between the steady flow of ale and his lust, his judgment was flawed and fuzzy. The other two boys protested noisily. Dawn walked over to them and placed one hand on each of their chests.

"Calm down, calm down," she said, trying to conceal the edge of her irritation, "you'll both get a turn, but you have to be patient. It'll be worth the wait, I assure you."

Muttering about how silly women were and how self-conscious, they stalked down the stairs and slammed the door behind them. Relieved that she'd at least eliminated two-thirds of the problem, Dawn's mind was rapidly knitting together a plan. She needed to wrestle the kid's dagger away from him, then to persuade him to let her escape. She wouldn't even sick the authorities on him if she got away—though part of her had to admit that it was more for fear that Claude would find out that she'd egged him on in the first place.

"Now…what was your name?" Dawn purred. He flushed all red again and stared at the floor.

"Luis, Madame," he said quietly.

With his chocolate-colored hair falling in curls around his round face and the biggest blue eyes she'd ever seen, he didn't look like a trouble-maker. The cherub-like lips and the easily flushed face didn't hurt his charm, either. She estimated that he was mostly talk and that she didn't really have much to fear from him.

"Luis," she breathed, pretending to be very aroused, "you're not really as mean as you act, are you? You just don't want the others to see what a sweet-heart you really are underneath, do you?"

Luis was eating up the attention. He advanced towards her, transfixed by the way she spoke to him. His lips closed over hers and she made it feel as passionate as she could. His breath was revolting, but she shoved away the intense urge to gag. Her arms entwined around him and pulled him in closer. His breath grew ragged and hot.

_Just a little bit further…_ Dawn thought, her hands skimming his back and waist. For the briefest second, she sensed victory as her hand closed around the hilt of the dagger. Just as she was about to pull backwards and give Luis the surprise of his life, the door suddenly burst open. Luis jumped back, startled, and didn't even realize that he'd just helped Dawn unsheathe the dagger.

"What the-?" he yelped.

There was a clatter when Dawn dropped the dagger. Men surged into the room and seized the youth. The breath of air whooshed out of her lungs as she realized she knew all of them.

"Thank God!" Dawn sighed, her legs suddenly feeling like jelly.

Then, she saw Claude's face.

She wanted to run to him, to embrace him and never let him go. He had come to save her!

But something held her in place.

The coldness radiating from him was so intense that it froze the contents of her stomach and her blood. His eyes were icy and sharp and his face was as white as snow. His whole body had gone rigid the way someone does when they're fighting off a nasty tirade.

He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed her wrist, and led her out of the room. Though his grip on her was hard, it didn't hurt and he wasn't forceful. She didn't fight him. The chaos that ensued upstairs told her that the others were teaching Luis a very painful lesson. The other two boys were also getting a nasty beating. She swallowed hard and wondered why her throat was constricting so badly.

The black mare that Claude always rode was waiting in front of the house. With a strength that surprised and scared her, he lifted her up and placed her on the horse. She had to right herself or risk tipping out of the saddle. He swung up behind her and urged the horse forward without a word. Though he hadn't been rough when he held onto her, she couldn't help but notice the death grip he had on the reins.

The ride back to the cathedral was absolutely awful. People glanced up and saw them. They weren't sure what was going on, but they knew it must be serious for the archdeacon to look so displeased. He let her get down first, then led the horse back to the stable.

Dawn waited for him to come back.

When he did, he brushed past her as though she were a stranger. She tried to force out the explanation, but the words died before they reached her mouth. Her tongue lay stupidly at the bottom of her mouth. Willing her legs to move, she stumbled clumsily after him.

"Claude! Claude, wait!"

He disappeared around the corner as though he hadn't heard her. When he returned, he carried Malachi. Malachi was still sleeping peacefully, unaware of the fury of his father or the cowardice of his mother. Claude's icy eyes held an unnatural glint in them.

"Was it worth it?"

Claude's voice was so, so quiet, but those four words carried a crushing weight to them. Dawn knew exactly what he was asking: was it worth having hurt them for a cheap few moments of feeling like the center of attention again?

She bowed her head.

"No."

…

Quasimodo heard a soft whimpering and he descended the stairs to see what it was. Dawn was sitting in the middle of the floor with her face buried in Squishie's hair. The little wheat-colored dog licked her face and tried to offer sympathy, but she couldn't console her master no matter how hard she tried. Claude was nowhere to be seen.

He knelt down next to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. Only one dark brown eye was visible when she looked up at him.

"What's the matter?" Quasimodo asked.

Dawn felt worse when she looked at him. Poor, sweet, simple Quasimodo. He would likely never know the complexity of a relationship, especially a married one. Swallowing back a bitter lump of tears that had not been shed yet, she lowered Squishie enough that he could see her lips move.

"Claude thinks I've done something really horrible. Something I didn't do…he's really upset with me right now. He won't even talk to me."

Quasimodo nodded in understanding. He had seen his master in these moods and the only thing he knew to do was to wait it out.

"He will forgive you. He loves you."

The amulet was flashing a strong, bright yellow, indicating fear.

"I hope so. I don't like it when he's mad at me."

"What did you do? Or not do? What did he think you did?" Quasimodo was struggling to figure out the right words.

"He thinks I went off with another man and kissed him. I was trying to take that man's knife without him noticing so I could get away. I was kidnapped."

Quasimodo vaguely understood. His master was upset because he thought she'd fallen in love with another man.

"He will listen when he calms down."

"I hope so."

…

Claude had never been so upset in his life. This was far worse than the time that he'd found out that Esmeralda was in love with Phoebus. This was worse than any time that Quasimodo broke something or embarrassed him. This was worse than anything he'd ever been through. He was absolutely furious with Dawn.

But underneath it, he was furious because he was hurting badly.

It was one thing to sin like that against an adult. But Dawn had sinned against both him and the baby. Malachi was innocent; he had done nothing to deserve his mother's wandering gaze. Claude's heart was stabbed through with grief.

He wasn't sure he could look her in the face again.

Sooner or later, Malachi would need to be fed and he would have to deal with Dawn again. Though she had taught him that babies could subsist on goat's milk…if that were really the case, he would not need to deal with her again. If she wanted that kind of life back, he wouldn't stop her. He would raise Malachi by himself and this time he would do it right.

He was contemplating this when Esmeralda crossed his path.

"Claude, what's wrong? You and Dawn haven't said a word to each other since you've gotten back and she's out there crying."

Part of Claude wanted to cry, too, but he dammed up that urge behind the stone-cold mask he wore when he was angry.

"Let her. She needs to deal with the consequences of being unfaithful."

Esmeralda stared.

"She wasn't unfaithful to you, Claude, she was kidnapped!"

"That may be the case, but I saw the way she was kissing that boy. The only one she claims to have kissed like that before was me!"

The bitterness leaked into his voice along with resentment.

"Did you even ask her what happened?"

"She had plenty of time to explain," Claude snapped.

"Maybe she didn't. Maybe she hasn't tried because you were so angry. You didn't give her a chance."

Pierre appeared at Esmeralda's side.

"I was the first one in," Pierre informed him, "she was reaching for his dagger. She probably did it to distract him."

Claude stalked away before either of them had a chance to say any more about it.


	44. Chapter 44

That was one of the most terrible nights of Dawn's life. When Claude finally did speak to her, his words were very short and clipped. As she sat on the edge of the bed and fed Malachi his last meal before he'd be put in his crib, she sensed something dark about Claude. He seemed very mistrustful of her every mood now. After Malachi had been burped and put to bed, she finally decided that enough was enough. He was cold and distant and she would have to go to him.

After both of them had changed into their night clothes and gotten into the bed, it wasn't lost on her that he was trying very hard not to touch her.

"Claude, I didn't do anything with that guy. I was trying to distract him so that I could get his dagger out of his belt. Pierre saw me do it and Clopin saw me drop the knife. If you don't believe me, ask them."

His temper finally flared and burst out of the cold confines he'd had it locked in. He sat up and looked down at her, arms crossed over his thin chest.

"Surprisingly, that doesn't bother me as much as it should. What I want to know is why you went down there in the first place. All day, I've heard the whispers of how you were leading that boy on."

The guilt stabbed deeply into her chest.

"So I smiled at him. Big deal. It was just an act."

She felt his body go rigid.

"It's not 'just an act' to me. I've been very lenient with you, especially considering my position with the church. By all rights, none of this should have happened. I never thought I would have a child at this age. I never thought I would have a child at all, or a wife. Every time someone has come up to me and complained, I would say 'let her go, that's just how she is and she won't change'. I've stood by you no matter what. The first day you get frustrated with me, you go out and get into trouble."

Dawn winced. That last barb actually hit the mark and stung badly.

"That wasn't my intention," she said quietly, "I was just frustrated. I've never been a wife or a mom. I was barely a daughter. I was never a sister. I was just me. My music and my art are all I've ever been known for. Suddenly, it's 'Malachi' this and 'Malachi' that. I love him, I really do, but the me that was there before is still underneath. I never meant for things to get so out of hand…I just wanted to go back out there and do what I was known best for. I wanted to get that stage high one more time. Then that kid came along and I got carried away. I was all set and ready to come home afterward, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. The only reason I kissed him was to try and get his dagger. I didn't know of any other way to get out of there."

By now, Claude had rolled on his side and his back was facing her. He was completely silent.

"I screwed up, okay? I'm sorry. I didn't know. I wasn't thinking."

Dawn's voice hardened as her own temper flared. He still said nothing.

"Fine. Be that way, Mister-I'm-so-forgiving. Just remember, God says to practice what you preach."

She rolled on her side as well and faced the opposite way. They were now laying back-to-back.

It was one of those painful moments where she began to wonder if it had all been a mistake. She loved Claude, there was no mistaking it. Having a baby with him was wonderful, but she just didn't feel like Mother of the Year material. She wondered if she should have been brought here at all.

Sleep refused to grace her for a long time. Eventually, she felt Claude's breath slow and deepen. She rolled on her back so that she could look at him. A little of his red-gold hair was visible above the edge of the cover. Her hand reached out to stroke it. She would never understand the point of the tonsure, but she otherwise loved it. She didn't realize what a necessity it was for her to curl up in his arms this one night that he wouldn't allow it. Already, her ears rang in the silence, longing for the sound of his heartbeat to lull her to sleep. She wondered if he dreamed or if the sleep he had delved into was black and deep and restful. She felt the tear trickle out of the corner of her eye and swiped it away angrily.

She supposed he was right to be upset with her…she'd realized she'd made a mistake in flirting with Luis the minute he'd grabbed at her. But there was nothing that could be done about that now…she just wanted the Claude she knew and loved back. Malachi was a wonderful baby, but sometimes he could be every bit of a giant frustration as a joy. Her mind cycled through her pity party and kept her awake. If Claude would just take Malachi with him once in a while, she wouldn't be so frazzled and frustrated and tired and bitchy. If she didn't always feel that way, she might not be so resentful of being a preacher's wife. If she hadn't been feeling resentful and underappreciated, she'd have never felt the need to go out and do something stupid. If she hadn't felt the need to go out, she wouldn't have gotten in trouble. If he hadn't snapped at her in the first place, they wouldn't be in this situation. On and on it went. The clock chimed three. It chimed four. Still, she could not sleep. The light was just starting to pale when she finally did fall asleep.

And then Malachi woke up and demanded breakfast.

…

Claude stirred awake. He heard the baby crying and then glanced over at Dawn. She looked as though she'd been through a war. She didn't even move when he got up. She was awake when he came back, but barely. Sighing, she took Malachi and fed him while Claude dressed. If she could only haul herself out of bed…she was bone-tired.

"Stay there," he demanded, "I'll take him."

Dawn gratefully relinquished a much happier Malachi and slumped back onto the pillows. She had so little sense right now that she didn't even pay attention to Claude's emotional state.

He sighed and covered her up. Dawn would never be awake all night unless she was nursing a wound. It was best just to let it go for now. They could talk about it later.

Changing diapers and calming Malachi down was nothing out of the ordinary. He had raised Jehan and Quasimodo, so he was used to such tasks. The other priests just pretended not to notice and went on about their business. Claude sighed and wondered if they realized just how much easier on the husband it was when he did some of the work.

When Dawn finally made an appearance, it was mid afternoon. She still looked sleepy and slow, but not as bad as that morning. Claude was putting a wax seal on a message to be delivered when she found him in the office.

"Thanks for taking him," she said guiltily, "I didn't mean to sleep in so late."

Claude merely shrugged and pressed the stamp into the wax.

"Is there a way we can forget this ever happened?"

She couldn't help but ask. She didn't want him to always be mistrustful of her—it bothered her worse than anything else in the world.

"Forget what?"

Dawn nearly repeated herself until she saw his almost-smile. It was going to be okay.


	45. Chapter 45

A/N: This is the first year that I've had such a tough time keeping things updated. It's been a blessing to see other people writing more HOND stories because they help inspire me again. The person who was writing the "role-reversal" stories where Esmeralda had fallen in love with Claude was the one who broke the writer's blockage for me, especially with the wonderful character developments on Jehan. Silvertongue90—I dedicate this chapter to you, my fellow fictionwriter and most loyal reviewer.

It didn't escape Claude's notice that Dawn had been unusually subdued lately. She still did all of the things that she usually did, but there was a certain spark missing from her mannerisms. She'd been careful where she'd taken the guitar and she'd been even more careful what signals to the men she'd given off. He was thankful for that last part.

Dawn was changing Malachi's diaper. She'd done it so much that the task pretty much came automatically to her. It was often during those moments that her mind would wander the most. She insisted to herself that she didn't miss her old world, but she did miss aspects of it. She missed going to the movies and to restaurants. She missed her computer and all the bright colors of the games on it. Life hadn't been all good with the small run-down apartment that she shared with Squishie, but it hadn't been all bad either. Things could sometimes get a little dull around here, though she couldn't complain about the companionship. She did wish that Claude would spend a little more time with her…she didn't get to see much of him lately and he was often busy when she did.

Claude was in the process of trying to get more assistants. The one thing that he could say for Joseph was that the man had been extremely efficient. It was a pain in the butt trying to keep up with everything himself…he knew that part of his and Dawn's little disaster that had happened recently was part of his building frustration. He had begun to talk to the other priests in Notre Dame to see what their skills and passions were. His first order of business was to talk to Jacques, the ginger-haired young man that sometimes looked in on Quasimodo when he was particularly busy. Jacques was very good with people and seemed to get along with even the thorniest personalities. Claude decided to make him the eyes and ears of the cathedral. He would talk to the visitors and direct them to where they were supposed to go. In the case of controlling traffic to their food garden, it would be a tremendous help. Jacques also recommended a few other priests that were socially inclined like him. They could also help with distributing food and money to their poor.

Next, he talked to Andre, an older priest who preferred solitude and books to people. The man could sometimes be insufferably cranky, but he was quite good with numbers and his ability to work tirelessly with them for hours made him great for taking care of Notre Dame's budget and the offerings. He could multiply, add, subtract, and divide extraordinarily large numbers in his head. Often, his reactions to other people were odd—he seemed unable to understand why some of his gestures received puzzled looks. Dawn guessed that he might have a touch of Asperger's syndrome, a social disorder where the person has trouble identifying behavior patterns and understanding social norms.

"We think people sometimes don't make sense," she explained to Claude, "to him, they _never_ make sense."

During an awkward rambling conversation with him, she had just decided to shut up and listen to him (as she was constantly getting interrupted), Andre revealed that his father noticed his awkward and sometimes anti-social tendencies and sent him to live as a monk. Andre's troubled behavior immediately calmed down, as the solitude and the orderliness of a monk's life was exactly what he needed to function. He often didn't like crowds and didn't speak to others unless it was necessary because he was constantly afraid he'd inadvertently offend them. They decided to let Andre try to work this new job for a week and see how he did. He enjoyed it so much that Claude couldn't even think of taking it away from him.

The cook wasn't fond of the idea of someone else in her kitchen at first, but she reluctantly agreed that the workload was becoming a little too much for one person. Though she had several lower-end servants to handle the garbage and the dishes, she admitted that she'd been stubbornly trying to keep the cooking all in her own hands. After a few of the cathedral monks and nuns showed some particular talent with food, she grudgingly hired them on as assistants. They worked in shifts so that no one would get over-tired or neglect their prayer times.

"I could get used to this!" Dawn announced when she and Claude had gone downstairs early one morning and two steaming cups of tea were ready for them. She was going to be happy when Malachi was weaned so that she could drink coffee again.

During this time of business, she noticed that Jehan seemed to be around less and less. He was very cagey about where he'd been and Claude stopped pressing him after he realized he wasn't going to get a straight answer. One evening, though, curiosity got the better of him and he followed Jehan.

Jehan walked down the dirty alleyways, a path that Claude knew all too well. This path often had led to his former haunts where the alcoholic drinks flowed in abundance and cheap women were on every corner. Claude's heart was sinking into his gut when he considered the possibility of his brother reliving his adolescence when he'd sold all his university books for wine.

Much to his surprise, Jehan did not go into any of the pubs. He was polite to the women that called to him, but rebuffed their lustful offers. Now, Claude was even more curious as to what he was up to. Jehan disappeared into a run-down looking house. A solitary candle seemed to be the only source of light. As carefully as he could without being seen, Claude eased behind the bush by the window and peered through the dirty glass.

What he saw made his jaw drop.

Jehan was standing in the center of the room. More candles were lit now that he was here. The ring of people sitting around the edges were everything that mainstream society was told to hate. He identified several women that were notorious for prostitution (one was now heavy with child), several men that were notorious thieves, several old beggars and children who were not yet old enough to learn the more devious trades. They were as young as maybe five or six to as old as eighty. Jehan was passing around sheets of parchment that had appeared to be thrown out. Everyone took a piece and they were writing on the backs of them.

Claude was thoroughly amazed. It was then that someone raised an alarm and Jehan burst out of the house. Several pairs of hands seized him and Jehan yanked his hood back.

"Hands off! It's only my brother!" Jehan said, pushing a dagger away that had been resting dangerously close to Claude's throat. Claude had gone pale and a thin sheen of sweat made his bangs stick to his forehead. Jehan helped him up and straightened his black cloak.

"What are you doing here? Don't you know how careful we have to be about outsiders?" Jehan asked irritably. He dragged Claude inside and re-barred the door.

"I was…concerned…when you started disappearing every night," Claude said honestly, "and I thought you might be in some sort of trouble."

Laughter rippled around the room.

"No…the only trouble I have is making sure that the guards don't make up something to arrest us all for."

Claude glanced at everyone in the room. Several haunted pairs of eyes looked back at him.

"What is it exactly that you're trying to keep from them?" he asked.

"Well…as you know from the years you tried to keep me in the university that it's quite expensive," Jehan said bluntly, "and, unfortunately, not very many people know how to read and write. The poor are kept poor by their ignorance because they have no way to get inside the university. I was fortunate because I had you to teach me. They don't. The priests at Notre Dame are often too busy to take on students, especially this many. Knowing how to read and write won't necessarily change their conditions overnight, but it's a start."

In all the years that Claude had known Jehan, he'd never guessed that he'd had it in him.

"But…why, exactly?" Claude asked. Jehan pulled him aside and instructed his "students" to continue to practice their writing. They did, obediently using sticks of charcoal to scratch out scrawling letters on their recycled parchment.

"Because I knew if you could change from a cold-hearted man that was forever denying yourself happiness and consequently denying others to a man that loves and cares for so many, then I could change from a former drunk, womanizer, and wastrel to a man of honor and virtue…well, sort of."

Claude was thoroughly touched.

"I've sobered up," Jehan continued, "I've let go of needing a warm body next to me every night. But I wanted more than that…something that would hopefully continue once God takes me off of this earth. You have it with Dawn and Malachi, but I didn't until recently. I thought you'd be happy to know that I've gone back to the university myself. I have a job at the docks unloading the boats to pay for it."

Claude was shocked, but in a good way.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"Because I wanted to make sure it would last," Jehan said glumly, "I've disappointed you so many times that I didn't want to risk it again."

Claude felt a stab of guilt. He hadn't meant to be so hard on Jehan when they were still young. God knew he'd made his own fair share of mistakes…

"Is there any way I can help you?" Claude asked quietly.

"I'll let you know," Jehan said gratefully.

Dawn was giving Malachi a bath when Claude returned to the cathedral. He burst through the door and made her jump.

"Claude! Where have you been? I was worried!" Dawn exclaimed. She would have jumped up and hugged him, but she didn't dare let go of Malachi while he was still in the small tub. The baby laughed and waved his little hands around when he saw his father. Dawn hastily toweled him off and Claude took him and swung him around. Malachi enjoyed this game and his giggles filled the room.

"I know where Jehan's been going every night," he announced proudly as Dawn got a clean diaper out for the baby, "he's teaching some of the peasants to read and write."

"That's great!"

"That's just the beginning," Claude bragged, "he's also gone back to the university and he's got a job unloading cargo ships to pay for it!"

Dawn tugged a clean gown over Malachi's head. The baby fussed momentarily—if he'd had his way, he'd be crawling around completely naked for the rest of his life. Once Dawn got the gown on, he reached for his father again. Dawn giggled.

"You sound like a proud father tonight," she said with a chuckle, "especially when your kid thinks I'm the bad guy."

Malachi's little hands had seized Claude's cross pendant and he promptly popped it in his mouth. The first time he'd done that, Claude had been a little shocked and had given the baby a lecture that the kid had smiled all the way through. It was obvious that he didn't understand a thing Claude was saying. Claude had relaxed considerably since then. Now, he just eased the cross out of the baby's mouth.

"No, no, 'Chi," he said, using the nickname that Dawn had given him, "you musn't eat Jesus!"

Dawn burst into a fit of laughter.

"How are we going to explain communion to him?" she asked.

"Very, very carefully."

Now that the cross was out of his reach, Malachi was bored. He began to yawn and stretch his little body.

"It's odd," Claude said, some of the humor fading from his voice, "I never thought he would do it…he's completely grown up now. If I'd have known that all that frustration I'd felt with him was all for nothing, I'd have let him go and he'd have still found his own way back."

"It won't be the last time," Dawn admitted, "we all like to think we know best. I'm sure there are things we'll be on Chi's back about and he'll probably think we're overprotective, too."

Malachi was rapidly nodding off, his blue-green eyes sliding closed. He looked perfectly contented laying against Claude's shoulder. She would sketch this scene later if she could remember the details well enough. They kissed him goodnight and put him to bed. They stood side by side while they watched him drop off to sleep. With each day that passed, the resemblance to Claude grew a little bit more strong. He had Dawn's hair color, but he was definitely going to favor Claude more. That was fine with her.


	46. Chapter 46

The night was cool and still. Most of Paris was asleep—the only exceptions were the town drunkards and a few beggars who had no shelter to return to. The ship had landed a few hours ago, but the dark-haired man had promptly rented a room in the inn and gone to sleep. Seasickness was one of the most terribly unpleasant things he'd ever felt. But it was worth it…he continued to tell himself that.

The priests at the monastery he'd been sent to were far harder on him than any of the ones here. The repeated floggings, fasting, prayers, restrictions of privileges, and even self-mortification could not compete with the stinging in his soul. He had aged several years in a very short amount of time thanks to this harsh treatment and it had done him absolutely no good. The only thing that Joseph could measure was the bitter resentment in his soul. He was furious at them, furious at God for giving him such terrible feelings or not protecting him from them, and furious at Dawn and all the trouble she'd caused. In the past several months, he'd done many things he never thought he would do.

His escape from the monastery itself had lowered him to several sins: first, he had been forced to knock several people out. In their attempts to purge Joseph's soul of his homosexuality, he had been put through several hours of back-breaking work. It had strained his body, yes, but he had grown stronger. One well-aimed blow was all it had taken. He'd been forced to steal some coins so that he could buy his passage across the ocean. He had bribed several people along the way to avoid revealing his true identity, as he knew this could cause an uproar in Paris. He didn't want anyone to know that he was coming.

Once here, he had shed his monk's mantle for the time being and stowed it in the roughly made travel bag. It wasn't the best, but it was functional and that was all he needed. He had purchased some second-hand clothes from a tailor's shop and could now fit in with everyone else as long as he kept his tonsure covered. He actually had some scars on his face that somewhat obscured his features now and there was a permanent dent in his nose where it had broken and not quite been reset properly. No one at the inn had recognized him or questioned his presence. Once his stomach was settled, he still felt shaky and weak and was forced to purchase a meal here. The greasy stew and hard bread weren't the best, but he barely noticed the taste. It stopped the weakness and that was all that mattered.

Now…

Joseph crept down the streets as silently as death itself. He wondered how on earth he was going to make it into the cathedral without someone pointing him out. Even with the secret passageways underneath, it was still a big risk. It was a chance he'd have to take.

He tugged the grate loose, pleased to realize it had never been fixed and descended into the damp, musty air below. The rats fled from him, which was good. He would have kicked them across the tunnel if need be. He wasn't feeling particularly friendly tonight.

_No, no,_ he warned himself, _I mustn't let my temper get the better of me. That's what I did wrong last time. _

The guilt still haunted him at what he had nearly done. He would never forget the look on Claude's face when he'd turned to see Joseph and Dawn fighting over the dagger. He had been horrified and rightfully so. While Joseph had once thought that his intentions were good at the time, he realized what a terrible mistake he'd have made if Dawn hadn't stopped him. At that moment, he froze. The stillness was only broken by the guttering of the lantern he carried and the squeaking of the rats.

_Curse her!_

He couldn't deny that he owed her in a way. If he'd succeeded in taking Claude's life, his own would be empty and meaningless. God had turned His face away and so had everyone else around him. His only hope had been to see Claude again.

He shoved at the trapdoor until he got it up. He knew this cathedral like the back of his hand. Right now, he was in the storage cellar. He snuffed out the lantern and ascended the staircase. He no longer needed the light—he knew where he was going. He easily navigated the maze of corridors and past the monks' cells. They grew larger as he passed—this was where the more privileged priests lived. Finally, he reached Claude's cell.

This was going to be the tricky part. He eased the door open at a painfully slow pace. Thankfully, the hinges didn't creak. His eyes fell on the bed and he stood there for a long time, looking.

Claude was fast asleep and laying on his side. His slender body was curved protectively around Dawn's. The gesture was so tender and loving that it made him nauseous. He saw the ring on Dawn's hand and he knew.

_They're married…how can that be? Priests aren't allowed to marry!_ His mind was screaming. Yet here they were…he supposed some sort of exception had been made to allow it. Otherwise, she'd have never been allowed up here…

The open door connecting to one wall of the room attracted his attention. As quietly and carefully as he could, he crossed the room. Every nerve ending was standing straight up—he winced at the slightest sound. He was deathly afraid of being caught in such close proximity of Claude.

Then, his eyes fell on the crib.

_WHAT?_

He crossed the room and peered over the side. The moon was full tonight and illuminated the baby's face perfectly. There was no mistaking whose child it was…the face was Claude's face. Joseph's heart tugged oddly against his ribs. He had folded his arms over the side of the crib and he rested his chin there.

_He always did seem the type to want a child…he was rather disappointed with the way Jehan and Quasimodo turned out,_ Joseph lamented to himself, _that wretch of a woman gave him something I never could have._

He was so busy looking at the baby that he didn't see Squishie asleep under the crib. The little dog sniffed at him. Something about this man seemed vaguely familiar…he did not belong here. She crept out from under the crib for a better look. He didn't seem to be bothering the baby, but would he?

She didn't growl or give any indication she was there. It might be best if she just told her master.

The baby began to stir and whimper. His eyes opened and he looked straight up at Joseph. When the whimpering grew a little bit louder, Joseph carefully eased him out of the crib and began to rock him. Malachi tensed—he did not recognize this man. The other priests in the cathedral sometimes held him, but that was only okay when Claude or Dawn was still there.

Malachi's thin little wail pierced the silence. Joseph hugged the baby tighter against his thin chest, but this only seemed to bother Malachi. His back arched and his limbs began to flail. Joseph hastily put Malachi back in his crib and made a fast exit.

Dawn sleepily stumbled into the room, her long blonde curls messily cascading down her shoulders. She picked the baby up and checked him. His diaper was dry and he didn't seem to be hungry. Puzzled, she rubbed his tummy to make sure he didn't have a gas bubble. Eventually, she sat down in the rocking chair and began to sing to him. He settled down quickly after that and fell asleep in his mother's arms.

Dawn was a little confused. It wasn't like him to cry in the middle of the night for no reason. Maybe he'd heard something or just had a bad dream. Just after she'd lowered him into the crib, Squishie emerged and scratched at her leg.

"What is it, girl?" Dawn asked, stroking her fuzzy head. The dog had probably been feeling a little neglected since she'd been so busy with the baby. She picked Squishie up and carried her to the rocking chair. The amulet flashed as the connection was made between the dog and her master.

Something wasn't right. Dawn could feel it. Someone had just been here that shouldn't, but she didn't recognize the shadowy man from Squishie's memories. She was relieved, at least, that he hadn't hurt the baby in any way and actually seemed to be trying to help. Squishie, however, did not trust this man and was wary of him getting around the baby. When Dawn had explained (by way of the amulet) that it would be Squishie's job to help protect the baby, she had taken her job very seriously. Since Malachi had been born, Squishie often slept here in the nursery with him instead of at the foot of Dawn's bed that she shared with Claude.

"If he comes in here again, you let me know, all right?" Dawn asked Squishie. She "whuff"-ed in agreement and Dawn kissed her on the forehead.

Claude was half-awake when Dawn came back to bed.

"What is it?" he asked sleepily.

"Hopefully nothing," she answered, settling back in his arms. She decided to tell him in the morning.


	47. Chapter 47

Joseph's heart was thundering as he fled the room. He heard Dawn talking to Squishie and realized that he very nearly had been caught—it was a much closer call than he could have imagined. He clutched one hand to his thundering heart as he made his way back to his old cell. It was a journey made out of habit rather than anything being thought-out. He closed the door behind him and dropped onto his old bed. He frowned, looking around the bare room. He had never had many possessions; most of them had served some function. The room was free of any traces of him now. It was completely clean and there was no indication that anyone had ever lived here. He was fortunate that it wasn't a cold night because there wasn't a trace of wood in the small stove. He glanced out the window at the streets below and remembered how he'd frowned in disgust at the passersby.

He was now just like one of them. He could never go back to being what he was before.

He began to pace the room, thinking. Seeing Claude's child had changed everything. He might be an extreme man, but he was not without _some_ feeling. He couldn't hate the child because it was part of Claude. Such a beautiful baby surely could not be full of sin. He would be forever haunted by those brilliant blue eyes that were illuminated by the moon—they were without a doubt Claude's eyes. For one precious moment, he had held that baby in his arms and known that he would never have the privilege of holding Claude himself. Again, the sinful thoughts flooded his mind and refused to leave him be. His hands began to shake, but he did nothing. The pictures only seemed to grow more vivid with pain until pain and pleasure became indistinguishable from one another.

He remembered the one time he'd ever seen Claude unclothed. At one time, the image had meant absolutely nothing to him. Now, he could almost picture his warm, pale skin under his hands. Joseph shuddered violently and his mind snapped back to reality. He couldn't stay here…if he did, he would be tempted again.

Temptation…it was a word he'd heard all too often during these several Hellish months.

"I'm going to Hell…" Joseph whimpered, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his forehead, "and there's nothing I can do about it…"

Never had he felt so alone, so lost, so forsaken. He sobbed into his hands until the faint traces of morning loomed in the distance. He was furious that Dawn had been named after the sunlight, for now, he could never break that association. He pulled himself together again and quickly hurried back down into the tunnels. He didn't dare let anyone catch him up here. Settling himself against a damp, slime-covered wall, he fell asleep in the blackness.

Claude was deeply troubled when Dawn told him about the mysterious intruder the next morning. Squishie hadn't gotten a good look at the man and she couldn't remember where she'd seen him last—dogs didn't have memories nearly as vivid or as long-lasting as humans. She suspected that this stranger's presence had been what had woken Malachi up.

"He didn't hurt him…he just stood there and looked at him. Kind of held him a little bit. I don't think he wanted to do anything to him or take him," Dawn said, thinking out loud, "there was almost this feeling of sadness, like he was remembering something when he looked at Malachi. I kind of felt bad for him, whoever he was."

Claude speared a chunk of meat with more force than was necessary.

"Maybe so," he said, "but I don't like the idea of someone I don't know handling our son."

"I don't either," Dawn agreed, "even if he's harmless, he's still really creepy."

They finished their breakfast and headed to the sanctuary for the morning service. Malachi was usually quiet through most of it, but he seemed unusually fussy today.

"You're not getting sick, are you?" Dawn whispered, pressing her cheek to his forehead. He seemed a tiny bit warm, but it didn't necessarily mean a fever. She glanced apologetically to Claude and carried Malachi out of the sanctuary. He would understand…a crying baby could be a major distraction.

By the time that the service was over, Malachi seemed inconsolable. His little red face was scrunched up and he was screaming at the top of his lungs. Dawn's heart was thundering—she was desperate to know what the matter was.

"Tell me," she pleaded with him, "tell me what the matter is!"

A sharp pain stabbed through her midsection as though every single one of her guts had burst into flames. It was so severe that she nearly cried with him.

"Oh, goodness…poor baby…" she sighed, "no wonder you're so miserable."

He drew his little legs in close to his belly, but it did no good. Dawn cradled him against her shoulder while she frantically searched for something to rid him of his awful stomachache.

Claude hurried up the stairs as soon as he could. From the way that Malachi was screaming, it sounded like he was being murdered. He threw the door open with a loud bang and crossed the room in three strides.

"What's wrong with him?"

Claude sounded every bit as panicky as Dawn felt.

"He's sick," Dawn answered, "he's got a stomachache that would bring a grown man to tears."

It wasn't long before stuff was coming out of both ends. Dawn tried to give him some medicine, but it didn't stay in his system long enough to take effect. After a few hours of this, she was getting worried. A baby could easily get dehydrated and malnourished with an illness like this. She and Claude took turns rocking him and trying to soothe him when he cried. Quasimodo was sympathetic, but he hated being helpless. He didn't like to see his little brother so upset. Squishie paced the floor and whimpered, licking Malachi's cheek and trying to make him feel better. The other priests had begun to pray for Malachi's recovery because they were worried, too. They didn't often have children in their midst and it was rare that they had sick children for very long. Dawn wondered if her own mother had ever felt this helpless when she'd been sick as a baby. Claude couldn't remember Jehan ever being this sick—he rarely had fevers and had mostly suffered with colds. The cathedral doctor ascended the stairs and came to see if there was anything he could do to help. He gave Malachi some sort of herbal mixture, but Malachi threw it up.

"Poor kid," Dawn sighed. Malachi's screams had given way to whimpers as he steadily grew weaker. She sang almost every song she knew to him, some that she had made up. Claude alternated between pacing the floor and praying. The sound of Malachi's whimpers and Claude's whispered Latin with the clicking of the rosary beads became an odd music all its own. Dawn's hands very gently caressed Malachi's belly, as the tiniest bit of too much pressure would send him into fits all over again. His belly was bloated out and hard.

"You know…I've been thinking," Dawn said quietly as she rocked, "I don't think I ever actually gave my mom enough credit. This is way harder than I thought it would be."

"It makes me wonder how God does it," Claude remarked, still kneeling on the hearth, "having billions of us to look after…"

He stared into the flames for a while, seeing shapes periodically. It was a habit he'd developed when he'd first noticed Esmeralda. He often did it when he was exhausted and needed to let his mind rest.

"I feel like I could sleep forever," Claude admitted, finally glancing up at her, "but I wouldn't even trade times like these for anything else."

"Yeah…he'll get better eventually," Dawn sighed, "I just wish I could figure out what it was that made him so sick in the first place."

It was a long night. Though Malachi scarcely made any noise, he still whimpered and they were afraid that something would happen if they weren't awake. They slept in four-hour shifts, taking turns staying up with the baby. Joseph heard them talking as he crept into the hall and knew that getting any closer would be a mistake. He left the cathedral to spend his night elsewhere.

It was Dawn's shift. Cradling the baby in the crook of her arm, she sketched with her other hand. She was drawing the moment of tenderness that Claude and Malachi had shared while they were playing one day. The steady swishing of her pencil against paper helped to calm her mind and steady her heart. It was the one way she could hold onto her sanity right now. Claude had fallen asleep facedown on the bed with all his robes still on. She'd spread a quilt over him as best as she could with one hand. Squishie had curled up beside him with her head resting against his. Dawn couldn't help but smile.

The door creaked open and Dawn glanced up. Jehan and Lucie stood there.

"Oh…thank God," Dawn said, "you scared me."

"You were expecting someone else?" Lucie asked.

Dawn decided not to discuss that stranger that she'd been worried about. Her eyes instead fell on the small bottle that she carried.

"What is that?" she asked.

"Something for the baby. I'm not sure how much he needs, so we'll start with a few drops."

Malachi resisted the makeshift dropper at first because he had come to associate eating with pain. He was forced to swallow out of reflex and protested noisily. Claude was so exhausted that he didn't even stir, although Squishie did. She raised her head to look around, then settled back down.

"And then what?" Dawn asked.

"Now we wait," Lucie replied, "he'll be very, very sleepy. It will give his body a chance to rest. He'll be very hot to the touch, but that tells us that it's working and burning all the bad things out."

Malachi did fall asleep shortly after that. It bothered Dawn to see him so deathly still, but Lucie didn't seem bothered by it. She had no choice but to trust Lucie, as the old woman had nursed a lot of people back from the brink of death.

"Why don't you get some sleep? I'll watch him," Jehan offered.

Dawn gratefully relinquished the baby and lay down beside Claude. She dreamed about the strange man who had come to visit, but she woke before she saw his face.


	48. Chapter 48

A/N: Sorry about the long wait. Between Internet difficulties and writer's block, I've had a little trouble with updates.

The halls were dark and silent for now. Malachi's pained crying had calmed to the occasional whimper—he was sleeping peacefully now with his thumb in his mouth. Jehan had promised Lucie that he'd bring the baby back upstairs if he began to cry again. Lucie was situated in one of the spare rooms. Jehan was somewhat relieved now because he finally had a few moments to himself. Restless, he walked the halls with the sleeping baby.

He had not informed Dawn and Claude that his object of affection, Celeste (the girl he'd met at the snowball fight) had sent a letter to him stating that she'd been married to another man recently and would not return to Paris. Though he was irritated at her for not telling him herself, he was far from heartbroken. He was bewildered at first by his lack of hurt at this. Perhaps he had not felt as deeply for her as he thought. It did not matter; he'd known he didn't have much to offer her anyway. Though he was tucking away money for a place of his own and continuing his meetings with his students three times a week, it was far from a life that he wanted to offer a woman. He was grateful to his older brother for his kindness and the closeness they now shared, but he didn't want to take advantage of Claude. God in Heaven knew that the archdeacon had his hands full…

He emerged into the dark sanctuary. A few candles were still burning, but they couldn't fend off the shadowy darkness. He wasn't afraid—the dark had always been restful for him. A startled cry from his left, however, indicated that there was someone here who didn't feel the same. He turned to see Marie clutching her infant daughter tightly to her chest.

Celeste whimpered and squirmed against her mother. Marie realized it was only Jehan and tried to soothe the baby she'd just scared.

"I…uh…couldn't sleep and neither could Celeste," she said, sounding like a guilty child.

"Same with Chi and I," Jehan replied, "though he seems to have dropped off finally."

Marie ventured closer. Her long black curls were in a braid, but a few strands had come loose and now hung around her face. Her twilight-blue eyes studied Jehan in the scant orange light. In her simple white nightgown, she did not look like the dangerous man-hating creature she'd been when she'd first arrived. Their last couple of encounters had been pleasant, though cautious. Marie was finally beginning to trust people again.

"Is he feeling any better? I heard he was very sick from one of the priests."

"I think so. He's been sleeping for longer stretches since Lucie gave him that remedy of hers. Claude and Dawn are sleeping like the dead right now. They didn't even move when I looked in on them last."

She nodded.

"I'm very fortunate that Celeste hasn't been ill yet. At least they have each other…and you."

She bit her lip and glanced down at Celeste. It was so odd to see her own eyes looking back at her.

"You'll find someone eventually," Jehan assured her, "you're still very young."

"But I have a child. No man will want to give a…" she hesitated, desperately not wanting to think of the vulgar term that would be applied to her baby, "…a child born out of wedlock his name. My reputation is hardly snow-colored and I have no dowry."

Jehan did pity her. Parisian society was not altogether friendly to people in her position.

"If he loves you both, that won't matter," Jehan assured her.

She laughed bitterly.

"Oh…I wish I believed that. I did once. But it does not matter. _She_ is the only thing that matters to me now."

Jehan nodded in understanding.

"When all those terrible things happened, I blamed her," Marie admitted, "but she never asked to be born. I have no one to blame but myself. I don't want her to suffer for my mistakes. I've never forgotten the pain…I felt as though my body was being torn apart from the inside out. But I fell in love with her anyway."

Jehan settled down on one of the pews. Malachi was starting to feel a little heavy. Marie sat down beside him.

"Love does incredible things to people," Jehan agreed, "if you'd known my brother before Dawn was here, you'd see just how big of a miracle it was. He used to get so angry with me…he used to be rather harsh on that poor misshapen boy of his as well…I felt bad for Quasimodo. Claude didn't much feel as though he had a choice with either one of us. Our parents died when he was still a child and I was barely a few months old. He raised me as best as he could, Quasimodo, too. Quasimodo came along when we were older and as grudgingly as Claude took him in, he still didn't want Quasimodo to die simply for his ugliness. The more I'm around him, the less I see it…funny how that works. And then there was Dawn…Dawn saved his life. Dawn saved a lot of lives. He didn't stand a chance."

Jehan smiled at the memory, remembering what a tortured soul that Claude was when he'd first told Jehan of his affections for Dawn.

"Perhaps love's meant for other people, but I won't believe in it for myself until I see it," Marie informed him, "and even then, I shall fight it. I don't want to turn witless when my daughter needs me more than any man."

Jehan was glad to know, at least, that she cared for Celeste so much. Love had transformed Marie along with everyone else around here.

"I've done some very stupid things in the name of love," Jehan laughed, remembering some of the scrapes that Claude had bailed him out of, "and my brother, unfortunately, ended up having to save me. He got me out of trouble more times than I care to remember."

Seeing that she was curious now, Jehan shifted so that he was a little more comfortable.

"I once got into a very nasty fight with a man over a woman. Of course, I was only sixteen years old. I know that there must be a God because He kept Claude from strangling me. Anyway, I'd kissed her a few times and I'd made quite the fool of myself. I went through several of Claude's coins buying presents for her. One day, her fiancée caught us together and warned me not to show my face around her home ever again. I obeyed him—I only tried to see her in town after that. We were having a drink at the local pub and he showed up there to collect her. He saw me and went into a rage. I should have run for my life—I'm quite skinny and could have easily hid or simply outrun him. What did I do? I decided to pick a fight with someone twice as tall as me and easily three times my weight. To make matters worse, he was a soldier."

Marie chuckled.

"Oh dear…then what happened?"

"Well, he grabbed me by my shirt and I kneed him in a very sensitive area. Unfortunately, all it did was make him angrier and he threw me across the room as if I were only a stone. The girl in question had long since fled the premises out of embarrassment and gone straight home, but neither of us noticed. We started to fight and someone went to the cathedral to find my brother who was not yet the archdeacon. He left right in the middle of one of the office prayers and ran down to the pub to get me. When he saw what was happening, he was forced to ask for assistance in breaking us up. The pub owner demanded to know what in God's name he was doing there…he stuck out like a sore thumb with his white robes and reddish-gold hair. For some reason, everyone thought this situation was quite amusing. He hauled me up out of the floor and paid off the guards to keep me from being dragged to prison. I assure you that he was harder on me than any of the people at the Bastille would have been."

Marie was laughing because she could picture all of this happening.

"What did he do to you?"

"He said that since I insisted on acting like a child that I would be treated like one. He walked me to and from the university to make sure I didn't take any detours and otherwise made me stay with him at the cathedral all day. This went on for almost a week. It was absolutely mortifying, having my big brother follow me _everywhere_. Needless to say, I was a bit more careful in who I picked my fights with."

"My brother was once very protective of me, too," Marie confessed, "in a sense, he raised me as well. I was a very tomboyish young lady, very headstrong. I insisted on doing things that were considered unladylike such as climbing trees and riding horses with no saddle. He would always scold me, but he had a twinkle in his eye when he did it. He was already married and out of the house by the time Celeste was conceived, but Father forbade him to ever speak to me. He was heartbroken."

"Why didn't he take you in?" Jehan asked.

Marie rolled her eyes.

"He's afraid of my father. Even though he's a grown man. He still does everything he's told."

Jehan sympathized with her. He had felt relatively alone in the world until he'd finally returned to Paris. He was still surprised at how well he and Claude were getting along. Claude seemed to have a feeling toward him he'd never shown previously: respect.

"You'll never be alone here," Jehan said, gesturing around him, "you'll probably have more family here than you'll ever possibly want. And plenty of people to watch Celeste if you ever have need for a break."

The two sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. They were unaware of the moving shadow in the back of the room. Realizing that there were others here, the person retreated without being seen or heard.

Jehan glanced sideways at Marie, who was thinking about something. He had never gotten a good look at her, as she preferred to be alone most of the time. She was small and thin, but after having seen the fury in her on that first day, he would never take her size as an indicator of strength. She was tougher than most of the men he'd known. When she allowed it to show through, there was a softer side to her as well. He admired her for her strength and her willingness to put Celeste first. Her chin and cheekbones had softened now that she'd put on some healthy weight and the shadows weren't so sharp on her face. Though not a conventional beauty, she was quite lovely in her own way. It took some effort to wrench his mind away from those thoughts.

"She's finally settled down," Marie breathed a sigh of relief, "perhaps I'll go to bed now and try to sleep a little before it gets light outside. She'll be awake for good when she sees daylight."

"All right. Good night, then."

He didn't have to, but he walked her upstairs, stopping a respectable distance from the door to her room. He wanted her to see that he was safe. He had turned his back before she'd even turned hers.

She watched his retreating back.

"Good night, Jehan," she said softly.


	49. Chapter 49

Malachi cooed as he reached for the quill pen. For the third time in a row, Claude intercepted his little and pushed the inkwell out of his grasp. Ordinarily, he would have just sat him down in the floor and given him something less hazardous to play with, but Malachi had regained enough energy to crawl around and get into things. Claude was grateful that his son was better, but Malachi was becoming a handful, especially when he was trying to work.

"Where is your mother? She was supposed to be back an hour ago."

Since the incident with Luis all those months ago, Dawn had made a point of telling Claude where she would be and when she would be back. She was careful not to be gone past the time she gave him unless she sent a messenger. Today, however, no one had come by to update him. Today, she was giving out medicine, as a good majority of Paris seemed to be suffering from the same illness as Malachi. He knew that Pierre and Esmeralda were with her, so he really couldn't understand why no one had come to explain her lateness. Claude was getting short-tempered because he was worried. On top of that, he wasn't feeling the greatest. Shortly after dinner last night, his own stomach had started to bother him. He'd skipped breakfast this morning and stayed far away from the kitchen, as food smells only worsened the nausea. He couldn't concentrate on writing his sermon for the Mass and everything added together worsened his attitude steadily. He eased out of the chair and carried Malachi downstairs. It was time to go find Dawn.

"Have any of you seen Dawn recently?" he asked the priests that he passed. Their answers were all variants of "not since she left this morning". When Claude finally found Jehan and Marie in the garden, he witnessed something that he wished he hadn't.

Jehan and Marie were kissing. A few feet away, the year-old Celeste was watching a butterfly land on the flowers with rapt attention. She was oblivious to the whole thing.

Claude cleared his throat and the two of them jerked apart and flushed guiltily.

"Didn't see you there," Jehan said, sounding very much like the teenage-version of himself when he prepared for Claude to scold him.

Claude decided not to comment on their display of affection in what was supposed to be a holy place.

"Have either of you seen Dawn? She was supposed to be here over an hour ago and she hasn't sent anyone to inform me of anything," Claude said.

"No, sir, we haven't seen her since this morning," Marie answered.

"I need someone to watch him while I go look for her."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Jehan asked.

"No, but I do need someone to take Chi."

Jehan offered his arms to Malachi, who had a big smile for his uncle.

"Thank you. I don't plan on being gone very long," Claude told them, "I'll come and get him as soon as I get back."

They watched Claude stalk out of the garden.

"I do hope she's all right," Jehan commented when Claude was out of earshot, "he's an absolute nightmare when he's worried. Especially when it comes to Dawn."

"I don't blame him," Marie answered, "if someone I loved so much nearly died, I'd be worse than him if they went missing."

As Claude left the cathedral, he realized that he was beginning to feel worse.

_Where is she? When I find her, I'm going to give her a piece of my mind._

The sick feeling in his stomach was getting to be more of a bother by the second, but he just assumed it was because he was irritated with Dawn. His lightheadedness was probably due to skipping meals.

_I'll feel better when I find her, _he assured himself, _I just have to find her._

As always when Dawn was gone for long stretches, the worst-case scenarios replayed in his mind. She could be kidnapped, killed, or hurt. Someone could be holding her hostage. Someone could have robbed her. Anything could have happened, but the worst was always at the front of his mind. The sunshine seemed painfully bright and he wished his robes were thinner—he was burning up in the heavy black cloth. The masses of people that passed him in the street seemed to blur together. Though he asked if they'd seen Dawn several times, he knew he wouldn't be able to recall their faces later on.

And then it happened.

As if he didn't stick out enough in his black robes and big silver crucifix pendant, he drew even more attention now. People scattered when they saw him get sick. He had absolutely no warning whatsoever before his stomach clenched so hard that he bent double.

"Are you all right, sir?"

A soft, feminine voice came from somewhere on his left. Claude was too busy trying to catch his breath to look up.

_I was just sick all over the sidewalk. Does it LOOK like I'm all right to you?_

But he didn't say that. Instead, he straightened to see Fleur. Phoebus was some distance away talking to another man. In her arms, Fleur held the baby whose life Dawn had helped save.

"Have you seen my wife?" Claude asked weakly.

"I'm afraid not," she admitted, "would you like for us to escort you back to the cathedral? You don't look well at all. You're as white as a lamb."

Claude pressed a hand to his forehead, waiting on the sudden dizziness to pass.

"Thank you…but no. I need to find her first and then I'll get back to the cathedral."

Fleur shifted uncomfortably, obviously concerned for him.

"Are you certain?"

"I am."

Before she could insist that he come with them, Claude left. He longed for a drink of water to wash the sourness from his breath. The experience he'd just had left him feeling rather humiliated.

After talking to a few of the gypsies and still not being able to locate Dawn, Claude was more worried and feeling worse than ever. He did, however, see Lucie.

_Thank God…if anyone knows where Dawn is, this woman must._

Lucie looked him over as he approached.

"You ought to sit down, sir. Your color is terrible."

Claude bit back an impatient remark.

"I'm looking for Dawn. Has she been here recently?"

Lucie frowned.

"She was here earlier, but you've missed her by a half-hour. Can I get you anything?"

Claude did accept a glass of water before he left at her insistence. Just to make sure he was all right, she walked with him.

"Really, you don't have to come with me," Claude said impatiently.

"I know the layout of the camp and you don't," Lucie argued, "besides…they won't think anything about robbing a priest if he wanders in here by himself. It doesn't matter that they know you're married to Dawn."

Deciding that arguing with her anymore would waste too much time, he muttered under his breath. They combed through the gypsy camp, but Dawn wasn't there, either. They made it all the way out of the camp before Claude got sick again.

"That's it," Lucie said firmly, "you're going back to that cathedral, Dawn or no Dawn."

"I _have_ to find her," he insisted, though his voice was becoming raspy.

"We'll look for her and send her back once we do," Lucie said firmly, "but you need to get inside and rest. You're in no condition to rescue her if she's in some sort of trouble."

"I'm not going home without her," Claude insisted, though one hand clutched his now-hard stomach. It felt as though he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

"You're going if we have to knock you out cold," Lucie insisted.

He was going to walk away from her in a refusal to argue. He made it two steps before he swayed dangerously. Someone caught him before he hit the stone road, but he never saw who.

"Well…I suppose we won't have to knock him out after all," Lucie remarked.

….

Joseph had dreamed about this for many nights, but not under these conditions. He had just happened to be right next to Claude. No sooner had he heard his voice, Claude had passed out. Joseph caught him before he landed on the unforgiving stone.

"Find the girl," he ordered Lucie, "I'll see that he gets back to the cathedral."

Lucie didn't need a second invitation. She hurried off to get a search party together.

Joseph's adrenaline fed him strength. Though Claude had never been very heavy, he somehow felt even lighter now. Joseph supposed it was a trick of his mind because he was scared for his former mentor. He adjusted his hold on Claude so that he could carry him and hurried to find someone who could give them a ride. Fleur and Phoebus saw them and stopped their carriage.

"I knew he should have gone home," Fleur remarked, "but he insisted on finding her himself."

Joseph had arranged Claude as comfortably as he could on the seat. His heart was thundering. Claude had felt like a burning coal in his arms. He had seen Claude sick before, but not like this.

They reached the cathedral and a few of the priests hurried outside to help with Claude.

"That hospital wing is overflowing with charity cases," Joseph objected, "take him to his room. It will be cleaner and quieter there…and cooler, most likely. We need to find Dawn—he was searching for her when he passed out."

The priests would later remember that they'd heard Joseph's voice somewhere, but they didn't ask. Right now, they were worried and willing to obey without question anyone who could bring order to the chaos. Right now, Joseph was that person.

He followed them upstairs and they lay Claude on the bed.

"I will stay with him until his wife returns," Joseph informed them, "we need a rag and some cool water to sponge him down with."

They practically tripped over each other trying to get down the stairs. The silence was deafening when they left. Joseph looked at the suddenly very sick man laying so still on the bed.

He'd dreamed of having Claude in his arms for many nights. But this…this was not the way he wanted it. Even if it meant that he'd never touch Claude again, or even see him again, he wanted Claude to be well. He'd known that half of Paris was sick with a stomach illness. Somehow, he never thought that Claude would get it. He'd always thought that the slightly older man was invincible. He wasn't, apparently.

Joseph smoothed Claude's golden-red hair out of his face, wincing at the heat. It was as though a raging fire burned under his skin.

"Wh-where is Dawn?" Claude choked out.

"She'll be here very soon," Joseph assured him, "all of your friends are trying to find her."

"I have to find her…"

He tried to rise off of the bed, but Joseph's hand stopped him.

"You aren't going anywhere. You're too ill."

Claude was going to protest, but his stomach got in the way again. The only coherent thought that came to mind was where all this stuff was coming from when he'd skipped two meals.

The strange man that had brought him here seemed concerned but not disgusted. Claude, on the other hand, was embarrassed. He couldn't help being sick, but he was annoyed that half the people in town had seen him throw up.

"Calm down," Joseph said firmly, "you'll get worse if you don't."

Claude didn't answer. He was busy trying to fend off the dizziness. He had no choice but to lay back down. His irritation was growing: first Dawn had gone missing, now Jehan would have to care for Malachi while Dawn was away, and now he was sick.

Joseph watched him and was careful to keep his face a mask of mild concern. He could not let Claude see the anxiety or the sadness under the surface. If any of that broke through his mask, he was done for.

"Who are you?" Claude asked weakly.

"A friend," Joseph answered, "who just happened to be in town on this day."

Claude was laying curled up now because his stomach hurt too much for him to lay stretched out on his back. He was starting to shiver violently from the fever. The priests that Joseph had sent downstairs returned with supplies. Though Claude fought him, Joseph had begun to sponge his face with the cool water.

"I'm freezing," he complained.

"You're burning up," Joseph said with more frustration than he meant, "and if we don't get you cooled down, you'll roast from the inside out."

It broke his heart to see Claude like this. For once, he was hoping that Dawn's return would be soon.


	50. Chapter 50

The door flew open with a noisy bang. Joseph quickly moved out of the way. Dawn shooed out the others and told them to wait in the sanctuary. Jehan stayed behind to help her out. She was going to thank the stranger who had helped Claude, but he was gone.

"Weird…" she mumbled, "I didn't even get to thank him."

She and Jehan stripped Claude's robes away and put his nightgown on him. Squishie whined and Dawn could feel her trying to say something, but she brushed off the little dog's concern.

"Not now, Squish, I have to help him!"

She got the thermometer and took Claude's temperature.

"Is that bad?" Jehan asked when the reading beeped onto the screen.

"It's not good," she answered grimly, "Malachi's fever wasn't this high."

She dipped her hand into the bag again and it closed around something cylindrical. She paled slightly when she realized it was a syringe.

"It must be pretty bad if I have to give him a shot," she remarked, "everyone else got pills or syrup."

Jehan stared at the needle, puzzled, while she used an alcoholic wipe to prepare a space on his upper arm. She'd seen her mom give people shots before, but she'd never done it herself.

"How does it work?"

Dawn explained it to him as she tapped the needle gently to make sure there were no air bubbles. Then, she stuck it in Claude's arm as quickly as she could. He didn't seem to feel the stick at all, as there was absolutely no reaction.

"Now what?" Jehan asked.

"Now we wait," Dawn answered.

She kept track of Claude's temperature over the next several hours. It did drop a little bit at first, but then it skyrocketed back up. He started to have terrible hallucinations when he was awake and his stomach seemed untamable. Dawn gave him the shots regularly (which was an impressive fight when he was awake, as he didn't seem to understand why she was doing it) all except for one time during the night when she slept in too long. Squishie jumped on her repeatedly until she woke. Much to her horror, he seemed to be having a seizure.

"Claude!"

She went cold all over, unsure of what to do. Realizing she'd missed her timing on the shot, she hurried to give it to him. Then, all she could do was try to cool him off. Badly frightened, she cradled his head in her lap and prayed like she'd never prayed before.

Jehan had heard her yelp and had come in to investigate. When he saw the tears streaming down her face, he knew that something was seriously wrong. Dawn never cried unless it was something big.

"You're exhausted," he told her, "rest. I'll watch him for a while."

She didn't think she would fall asleep, but she did. Assured that he was breathing normally now and feeling him next to her, she dropped off into darkness.

"You've got to get better," Jehan whispered to Claude, "you've just scared that poor woman half to death. She needs you. Your son needs you. This cathedral needs you. Come back…"

Deciding it certainly couldn't hurt, he prayed for his brother. Despite their disagreements, he had never stopped loving Claude. Now that they were close again, he couldn't stand the thought of anything happening to Claude.

Downstairs in the sanctuary, Joseph prayed too.

_ He was floating, weightless. There was no fever, there was no pain. He was free. He was joyful._

_ A sound caught his attention. A voice, pleading, crying for him to come back. Two of them, many of them. Then, he saw his own limp body laying in Dawn's arms. It was still breathing, but barely. He didn't know what happened, but it bothered him immensely. _

_ He froze. He couldn't bear the thought of causing Dawn pain no matter how good he felt. He could hear his son crying in the other room. Jehan went to get him._

_ "I can't leave them. I can't."_

_ Then everything went dark again._

When he woke, it was hard to tell what was real and what was only illusion. Every sound was agonizingly loud. Even the gentlest of touches seemed painful. His stomach burned as if he'd swallowed the fires of Hell. The waves of sickness were horribly painful and they left him even more exhausted than he'd been. Tears poured down his cheeks because he was in so much pain. Then, he felt a sting in one arm and he mercifully sank back into the darkness. It happened one too many times for him to even keep track of. During his rare moments of lucidity, he could feel Dawn embracing him and he could hear her voice. He held onto it as much as he could, even when his overheated mind tossed out fever dreams and bizarre images. It was as though he had a curse on him, as though he was under some horrible enchantment that he would never be able to break.

The third night came and the spell was finally broken.

The thunder was what woke him up. Apparently, there was a monstrous storm going on outside. He could hear rain beating against the glass and the creak of Dawn's rocking chair.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

There were no demons or scary things. The room was mostly dark except for the flickering firelight, but this darkness was cool and comforting. The occasional flash of lightning cast a ghostly blue-white light illuminated everything for a split second. He breathed a sigh of relief. Though he was still feeling far from good, the ache in his stomach was manageable. The clock chimed. He saw Dawn rise from her chair and get something out of her bag. It wasn't until she was up closer to him that she saw him trying to sit up. Their gazes locked.

His eyes were clear. Though he still had the slightest bit of fever haze there, he was lucid.

"Water, please," he choked out. His throat was as dry as desert sand. She nearly tripped herself in her haste to get him a drink. She had to hold the cup for him because his hands were still trembling so much. The faint burn washed away and he was relieved to feel that the water would stay down.

"I have to give you your medicine," she told him uneasily, "I've had to give you injections because you threw up so much."

She had gotten used to giving him shots while he was either hallucinating or asleep. But now, she wasn't sure how he would react to it. He winced a little bit from the stick, but he otherwise stayed still. After it was over, she explained to him how it worked.

"How long have I been ill?" he asked.

"Three days," she answered, "the _longest_ three days of my life."

She lay down on the bed beside him. He pulled her into his arms and she pressed flat against him. She couldn't seem to hug him enough no matter how hard she tried. He was painfully thin in her arms and he still shook a little bit. He was only a little bit warm, however, rather than burning hot the way he had been.

"Thank you," he breathed, "for taking care of me."

Dawn kissed him on the cheek.

"That's what I'm around for," she told him, "you took care of me when they banged me up in jail. Now it was my turn to take care of you. God, I'm so glad you're getting better. I missed you."

Squishie had heard Dawn's voice and come to investigate. She jumped up on the bed, tail wagging so fast that it was a blur. She jumped on Claude and he raised an arm trying to ward off the shower of dog-kisses.

"All right, all right, Squish! Go tell everyone!" Dawn said, getting the wiggly, happy dog out of Claude's face. Squishie bounded off the bed and went tearing down the halls.

"AROOROOROOROO!" Squishie bark-sang.

"How can one little dog make all that noise?" Claude asked.

"I'm still asking that question when it's time to put the baby to bed," Dawn joked, "when they make you repeat your vows and say 'for better or for worse', almost none of them informs you beforehand that it includes a screaming toddler."

A wail came from the next room. Malachi hated thunderstorms almost as much as Dawn did. Ordinarily, storms made her very jumpy, but she seemed completely calm now.

"That isn't bothering you?" Claude asked curiously. She paused in the doorway between their room and Malachi's.

"Claude, I saw you have a seizure because your fever wouldn't go down. Nothing scares me anymore."

He cringed inwardly, remembering one of his fever dreams where his soul seemed to have separated from his body. Had he really been that close to dying? It was an overwhelming feeling.

"Bring him here," Claude said.

Dawn didn't have to be told twice. She settled Malachi into Claude's lap. It was a blessing to see the serenity in both of their faces now, especially when so much had happened.

"All right, where is he? I'll kill him for putting us through this!" Jehan said from across the room.

"I missed you, too," Claude said dryly.

"He was up here almost all the time, too," Dawn told him, "I couldn't have done it without him."

Claude could only hug his brother with one arm because Malachi occupied the other one.

"Thank you for staying," he told Jehan, "I can't thank you enough."

"Yes you can. You can marry Marie and I when you're well."

Claude stared at him in momentary surprise. He supposed he should have seen it coming after the display of affection in the garden.

"All right. I'll do that."

"Right now he's going to rest, though," Dawn said firmly in her nurse/mother voice, "go tell everybody they can see him tomorrow."

Jehan's eyes twinkled. Satisfied that they were okay on their own tonight, he left. Claude tried to stifle a yawn, but it was too late. Dawn had already seen it. Malachi was already starting to nod off.

"I just don't have the heart to move him," Dawn remarked, "is it all right if he sleeps in here with us?"

Claude glanced down at the sleeping baby on his shoulder and eased back until he was laying down.

"He's not going anywhere," he agreed.

Dawn changed out of her dress and retreated under the covers. The storm had brought in a chill. She scooted in beside Claude, shivering.

"Ugh…not ready for it to be cold again," she muttered, "are you going to be all right?"

He assured her he was. With her on one side and Malachi on the other, he would stay warm. The three of them huddled together under the blankets.

"You know, I had a million things I wanted to say when you woke up and I was just so glad you did that I forgot all of them but one."

"And what was it?" he asked.

She moved so that they were looking into each other's eyes.

"I love you."


	51. Chapter 51

Fall came to Paris, rapidly cooling off the hot, uncomfortable air. The apple trees were ripe and everyone was finishing the last of their harvesting. Good smells perfumed the air as they celebrated the summer's bounty with extravagant dishes. Claude was slowly regaining his strength, though he frequently sent Dawn on errands so that he wouldn't wear himself out too quickly. She didn't mind in the least and enjoyed the time outside. She often took Malachi with her in a specially-made pack similar to the ones that were made in her former time period. He was walking now and didn't want to ride the entire time—she held his little hand and let him walk until he got tired.

She remembered the exact day he started to walk. He was just a few days shy of his first birthday when he'd taken his first couple of shuddering steps. Claude had been talking to another priest, his back facing Malachi. Malachi made a noise, trying to get his father's attention. Squishie sat there watching this whole thing with interest. Ordinarily, she'd have scratched at Claude's leg, but she waited. Dawn had just reached the doorway in time to see it.

Malachi had a very determined look on his face. His ocean-blue eyes narrowed in concentration, he pulled himself up with the aid of a nearby chair. The priest who was talking to Claude saw what was happening and immediately broke off his sentence. Claude turned his head to see what he was looking at and saw Malachi staggering towards him. His wide-stanced gait was clumsy and he looked as though he would fall on his butt any second. It was only two or three steps to an adult, but it must have seemed like miles to the baby. Only a few seconds actually passed, but it was as though time slowed down. His little hands grabbed onto the folds of Claude's robe and the room got very noisy at once. Squishie barked and ran around in circles. Claude picked Malachi up and was praising him enthusiastically. Dawn joined them, hugging both in one tight embrace. The excited priest forgot what he was there for in the first place and took off down the stairs shouting that the archdeacon's son was now walking. Since then, Malachi had been walking as much as he could because he knew everyone was so proud of him.

Today, she was going with Marie to help her pick out things for the wedding.

"I feel like the luckiest woman alive," Marie sighed, "I have a beautiful daughter and now I have a very sweet man whose soon to be my husband. I can't think of things being any better."

"Oh, trust me, I'm there," Dawn answered. They paused by a traveling merchant who was selling some brightly colored fabrics.

"Look at all these! They're the color of jewels!" Marie exclaimed. She held Ruth up so that the young girl could see what was sitting on his table.

"What do you think, sweet one?"

Ruth was sucking on her finger. She stared at the different colors for a moment, then reached her little hand towards a vibrant sapphire blue.

"Excellent choice," the merchant said proudly, "is the dress for you or for her?"

"Both," Marie said proudly, "I want us to match."

While he was measuring out the yards of fabric, Dawn bought two apple pastries for them. Each woman broke them in half and gave some to their young children. Dawn had learned from experience to keep a handkerchief handy because Malachi seemed to get more on him than in him. She cleaned the sticky, syrupy mess from his little round face while Marie took the bundle of cloth.

"Claude and I have only been married two years…well, not even quite two years yet," Dawn admitted, "and sometimes it seems like we've known each other for forever. Times like this, though, I wonder where the time's gone. I remember when Lucie and Esmeralda and I came down here to pick out wedding stuff for me."

She chuckled, remembering how nervous she'd been.

"I had the world's worst case of cold feet, but they kept assuring me that I'd be fine once all the waiting was over. They were right—I wouldn't change a thing."

"The two of you have become my dearest friends," Marie admitted, "and I can't thank you enough for taking me in. I had no idea that the future would be this wonderful."

She dabbed an emotional tear off of her cheek.

"It's what you make of it," Dawn said, "and I'd say we all made the most of it. They're great guys."

As they wandered along the street, they shared Claude and Jehan stories. By the time they reached the cathedral that evening, they were laden with packages and tired children.

"Good grief, did you buy the whole market?" Jehan teased when they came inside with all of the packages.

"Not quite," Dawn said mischievously, "but they'll be happy to see us again just the same."

"Is all this for the wedding?" Jehan asked.

"Yep," Dawn said proudly.

As Claude descended the stairs, he caught the last little part of this conversation. Jehan turned to him.

"I told you we should have gone with them!" he announced.

"Oh, come on, Jehan! You only get married once!" Dawn retorted.

Claude very wisely decided not to get in on this debate. Instead, he took some of the packages off their hands and carried them upstairs to Marie's room. Jehan saw this gentlemanly gesture and helped collect a few more. It was much easier to get up the stairs now that their load was lightened.

"What did you do to him?" Claude joked, seeing Malachi struggling to stay awake.

"What can I say? The kid likes to shop," Dawn answered, "he insisted on walking most of the day, so he's tired himself out. Just like his father—doesn't know when to take a break."

She eased him out of the baby-backpack and thought for a second.

"I should probably give him something to eat before I put him to bed, though."

The idea was short-lived, however. Malachi steadily got more cranky at dinner and he was fussing so much that Claude and Dawn couldn't eat. Dawn quickly took him upstairs to bed so that they could finish their own dinners.

"He won't wake up tonight," she commented when she returned, "he was out before I even tucked him in."

They watched the sunset together. The days were getting shorter now that fall was here. Before long, Paris would be covered in ice and snow. The lavender and pink sky contrasted wonderfully with the red, orange, yellow, and brown leaves.

"It's so peaceful right now," Dawn commented, gazing out at the colors, "hard to believe our lives were absolute turmoil a couple of years back.

His arm slid around her back. They sat side-by-side on the bed they shared.

"It all happened so fast," he commented, "I remember our first anniversary. I thought I was dreaming when I looked at the calendar."

"In a couple of months, it'll be two years. And in one month, Jehan and Marie will be married and moved into that new house. It's not going to be the same without them here all the time."

"That's true, but they'll be happy. They'll want their privacy."

He chuckled to himself.

"This cathedral has seen more excitement in the last year and a half than it has in centuries."

He kissed her cheek, closed his eyes, and breathed in. She smelled like sunshine, cinnamon, apples, fallen leaves, and love. Her dark eyes gleamed in the rapidly waning evening light and the setting sun cast her in all sorts of wonderful colors. He unfastened the clip that held her hair and it cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall of melted gold. One day, he mused, he hoped to have a daughter with hair like hers.

"What's going on in there?" Dawn asked, seeing his expression. It was her way of asking what he was thinking about. His kiss was her answer.

He still felt painfully thin in her arms, but she knew he'd regain the healthy weight over time. It was good to feel his strong arms around her again after his long illness.

"All this thinking about weddings made me miss you today," she muttered, "and I take it you missed me, too."

Their evening together was a rare luxury. No one seemed to need anything from either one of them—or maybe they were just that lucky. Malachi was sleeping soundly and didn't wake. Squishie was curled up underneath his crib. Daylight rapidly faded away outside. Every bone in Dawn's body seemed to turn to water as they came together after what seemed like an eternity. The challenges of caring for an entire congregation and cathedral, the responsibilities of being parents, and all the other events that had been happening lately had kept them away from each other for almost the whole day. By the time they got upstairs at night, they were both so exhausted that they would usually go straight to sleep. It was especially true after Claude's illness.

After he realized it was getting the slightest bit chilly now that the sun had gone down, Claude rose to build the fire back up. Dawn only shifted enough to release him. After he'd gotten the fire going again, he glanced over at her.

She lay on her side facing him. Her golden curls had cascaded down around her shoulders and back. Her face was very rosy and she was looking at him with a very amused expression. One of the blankets was draped over her haphazardly. Though most of her body was covered, her arms, legs, and shoulders were still exposed. She looked like one of the paintings he'd seen in a rich person's house. None of those could compare to her, though.

Her dark eyes studied him as well. Though he was very slender and almost delicate-looking now, she knew he'd get stronger with time. When she'd realized they were going to end up together, she'd pictured herself laying her head against his shoulders and chest. Now, this love for him had matured. He'd held her there when she was sad, scared, tired or upset. She'd seen him hold their child there. She couldn't think of a better place in the world to be.

He returned to her side once assured that the room would get warm soon. Curled up together, they watched the moon rise.

"Now what?" she asked, seeing his pensive expression. One hand stroked her long golden hair. Her hair was so curly that he could poke one finger through a spiraling strand and it would wrap tightly around it and hold its shape.

"I was just thinking," he said, seeing the curl wrapped around his finger, "that if we ever have a daughter, I hope she inherits your hair."

Dawn chuckled.

"There's a thought—that's all we need right now, another me running around this church. The place can barely handle one me."

"And they adjusted, didn't they?"

His voice was quiet, confident. She lay with her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat gradually slowing down. It was funny, she thought, how the slightest touch from him would make her own pulse jump.

And he wanted a daughter…she closed her eyes, listening to his breath slow and deepen as he fell asleep.

_Maybe,_ she thought, _but we kind of have our hands full right now. I'd rather wait until things settled down._


	52. Chapter 52

The morning of the wedding came faster than they seemed to be ready for. There was a lot of running around and last-minute preparations. This was the first time Claude had ever actually been included—ordinarily, people showed up, got married, and left. The cook was grumbling a little about the fact that they were hosting yet another after-party here, but even she couldn't complain because she was getting paid extra to keep the kitchens ready.

"You look beautiful," Marie commented when Dawn stepped into the room with her new dress on.

"Not as beautiful as you do!" Dawn answered. It was true—Dawn had made sure that none of them outshone the bride. Her dress was white and royal blue, which made her eyes stand out. Her hair was elaborately done and small white flowers were braided into her hair. Ruth wore a smaller, simpler version of Marie's dress. They were fortunate enough to get the last of the roses from the garden before they were gone for the winter. Dawn had spent half the morning weaving some into a flower crown for Ruth. She looked like a little angel.

"I think you're ready," Dawn announced, "and we made sure that your house is all ready for you to move into."

The house had been a surprise. Marie had not known about it until the day before. Jehan had nearly gone crazy trying to keep it a secret. Things were off to a great start.

"We should probably get downstairs," Dawn told her, "it's nearly time."

Claude was already in his place in the front of the sanctuary. He wore white robes with gold trim and was the picture of serenity. He and Jehan exchanged knowing glances as the music started.

Jehan's eyes locked on Marie. He was unable to see anything else after that. Dawn was grinning ear-to-ear and was remembering her own wedding day. She took her spot in one of the front pews to watch the ceremony. Squishie lay beside her on the pew and Malachi was sitting in her lap.

Then, they hit a slight snag.

"Jehan, where's the ring?" Claude whispered.

"I've got it, I swear! Must be in my other pocket."

Marie struggled not to giggle. Jehan's face flamed bright red.

"Has anyone seen the ring?" he asked, sounding mortified.

Malachi had slipped out of Dawn's lap and was toddling towards the couple. Dawn hadn't paid much attention, she was busy trying to see if he'd dropped it on the way up the aisle.

Then…

Claude's laughter rang through the church and spread. It was contagious. Puzzled, Dawn turned around to see what was so entertaining.

"You little sneak! How did you get that?" She asked, beginning to laugh herself.

Malachi was holding the ring. Seeming to be quite proud of himself, he waved it around in the air before surrendering it to Jehan. Jehan breathed a sigh of relief and wiped away the coating of baby-spit. Still blushing, he slid the cleaned ring on Marie's hand.

_That was close,_ he thought, _I saved for months to buy that ring…_

Taking a breath to try and compose himself, Claude was still grinning from amusement when he pronounced them husband and wife.

The crowd began to stream into the dining hall for the after-party. With this many guests, it was easy to blend into the background. Joseph had come to watch.

He saw the glint in Claude's eyes as the crowd had dispersed. She had stayed behind to wait for them. He drew her back into a less-visible area so that he could kiss her. They'd both emerged with flushed faces and their hands joined.

And for once, it didn't hurt him to the core.

There was something about seeing Claude so happy that washed away the pain once and for all. The endless yearning was gone. The apprehension and the jealousy were gone. A peace he had not known in years resonated through his soul.

It was all going to be all right.

Malachi was getting fussy because he was hungry. A few people were still lingering because they wanted to talk to Claude.

"Go on," he told Dawn, "I'll find you in a moment."

Dawn picked up their son, who was now yelling "HUNGRY!" at the top of his lungs. Joseph watched as she swept out of the sanctuary with the rest of the crowd. It vaguely reminded him of the night he'd seen her go with the gypsies.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized that Claude stood right next to him.

"You're the man who helped me when I was sick," he remembered. Joseph's stomach began to tremble.

"Yes, sir," he said respectfully, willing himself to sound calmer than he was.

"I never got a chance to thank you properly. I might have died without your assistance."

"I couldn't let that happen, sir. You have too much to live for," Joseph said awkwardly.

"As do you, sir. Join us. The more guests there are, the happier my wife will be."

He allowed himself to sweep in with the last of the crowd. There was a special dinner to celebrate with, then the rest of the after-party took place in the garden. Dawn, ever the stage-artist, was the entertainment for the guests that wanted to dance. It didn't escape Claude's notice (or anyone else's for that matter) that she was constantly trying to catch his gaze.

The festivities finally wound down late that night. Full of hope and happiness, everyone went home exhausted and full. Jehan and Marie had gone to their house and Dawn volunteered to keep Celeste for the night.

"There you go, all tucked in for the night," Dawn said, tucking her and Malachi in together. Both of them were rapidly drifting off. She kissed both of them on the forehead and slipped out of the room. Once she was back in the bedroom she shared with Claude, she flopped onto the bed.

"I am so tired," Dawn sighed, "I could sleep for a week. Who knew that parties were so exhausting?"

Claude chuckled.

"Says the woman who led an entire gypsy band into the kitchen and sang for two hours straight," he laughed, "between planning this _entire_ event, trying to keep up with a one-year old little boy whose sole mission in life is to get into _everything_, _and_ performing, I'm surprised you're still awake at all."

Dawn unlaced her corset and tossed it aside. She would never get used to these accursed things.

"I don't plan on being awake for much longer," she admitted with a yawn, "good luck getting me up in the morning."

Claude shed his robes and changed into his nightgown while she braided her hair for the night. She knew if she didn't that it would get hopelessly tangled.

"I'll let Squishie do that," Claude teased. The dog would wake her up if no one else could—she had a habit of digging the covers off of their heads and licking their ears, necks, and faces until they finally gave in and got up. Dawn claimed she was much more effective than an alarm clock because she was far too cute to throw against the wall.


	53. Chapter 53

"You are still here?" Claude couldn't help but ask when he saw the stranger from yesterday. It was still very early; Dawn, Malachi, and Squishie were all still sleeping. Most of the others were still asleep as well; even Quasimodo did not wake this early. Something had been on Claude's mind, however, and he was an early riser out of habit anyway. He'd decided to go for a walk and cherish this rare time for himself before he spent all day around others.

"Yes, Your Worship," the man responded respectfully, "I hoped you wouldn't mind; I had nowhere else to lodge for the night."

"Of course not," Claude answered, "we have plenty of room—you should have asked. Those pews can't possibly be a comfortable resting place."

The man stretched awkwardly. There was something oddly familiar about the way he moved, but Claude couldn't quite place it. Nevertheless, the recognition was there, tugging at the edge of his mind.

"I never got to thank you properly for helping me when I was ill," Claude told him, "I owe you my life."

He was vaguely surprised at the man's expression. He looked like he would burst into tears any second.

"What you have done to the least of these, you have also done to me," he recited the Bible verse quietly. It didn't stop his eyes from filling. He turned away from Claude to try and regain his composure. Concerned, Claude placed his hand on his shoulder and turned him back around.

"What's the matter?" Claude asked, knowing there was something bothering him immensely. He knew this look…it was the look of a very burdened soul.

"I suppose I was trying to make up for what I'd done," he choked out, "but I realize I could never atone for all the terrible things I've done. I will never find rest in this life or the next."

He looked pale enough to faint and quickly dropped into one of the pews.

"What did you do exactly?"

Joseph lowered his hood.

"Must I repeat it when you were the one I sinned against?"

….

Dawn had gotten Malachi's diaper changed and dressed him. After re-braiding her own hair and getting her own dress on, she hummed to him on the way down the stairs. Eager for a chunk of bread, Squishie bounded out in front of them. They passed the sanctuary and Squishie suddenly started barking savagely and streaked inside. Confused, Dawn followed her. She knew all of Squishie's different barks and she hadn't heard the dog sound so defensive in ages. Malachi started fussing, so she put him down. Since she hadn't yet seen Claude that morning, she wondered if he was having a relapse of his sickness or if he was in some kind of trouble. She had to lift her skirts to be able to run.

She skidded to a stop when she saw Claude backing away from a man in the floor. The man was on his knees and tears streamed down his face. Though his features were marred by scars, she'd never forget that face or that voice. He jerked in surprise at her sudden appearance. Squishie leapt between Joseph and Claude and growled sinisterly. Malachi was frightened by the noise and hid behind one of the pews.

"You!"

Dawn's complexion rapidly reddened in anger. She had only twitched when Claude suddenly seized her from behind and pinned her arms down.

"Don't," he pleaded in her ear.

"Why shouldn't I?" Dawn snapped, "This guy almost killed both of us and here he is TOUCHING my BABY and YOU! The nerve!"

She had torn herself loose from Claude's grasp. He went cold all over when he saw the glint of metal in the dim light. He knew that she'd started carrying a dagger a long time ago, but she'd always hidden it and never had to use it. The other priests had heard the commotion and come running, but Dawn's dagger was already at Joseph's throat. All it took was the graze of cold metal against his skin and he fell apart.

"Do it! Do it, please! End my cursed existence!"

"Get the guards!" Dawn yelled to the gathering crowd. Several of them dispersed at once, moving faster than she'd ever seen old guys move. Claude could hear his own heart pounding in his ears. The expression on Dawn's face frightened him. Anyone could become a murderer under the right circumstances—he knew that.

"Why did you come back here?" Dawn demanded of Joseph. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was trembling violently.

"I…I don't know…" he admitted.

"Yes, you do. You wanted to confess, now confess!" she snarled.

"I couldn't stay…away," Joseph choked out, "I wanted to see for myself if he was happy and he is…you've given him a son…you've given him everything that I couldn't…I wasn't going to hurt your boy, I swear…I only wanted to hold him…"

A teeny tiny droplet of blood showed at the edge of the blade. Claude hoped that Joseph would stay still…he would never be able to bear seeing someone murdered in his cathedral.

"I never meant to frighten everyone…" Joseph continued, voice still high-pitched with fear, "I meant to leave this very day…I just had to tell someone…"

There was quite a crowd now, all surrounding them in a circle. The guards had appeared. Claude was clutching the back of one of the pews so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale. His entire expression was filled with shock, disbelief, embarrassment, anger, and fear.

"For what it's worth…I'm sorry to both of you. I'm sorry I did all of those terrible things…I was jealous! I've come to realize that if I truly loved you then I should be happy for you! I've changed, I promise!"

His dark eyes locked on Claude's.

"I only wanted to ask your forgiveness…" he begged, "…and then, I would have gone far away. I would have lived out the rest of my life in solitude…I would have lived and died in peace knowing that you would always be loved and taken care of…"

Claude did not know what to say. He was absolutely mortified at this display. Most of the preachers had heard and they all wore looks of mutual disgust and anger. They were all staring at Joseph as if he'd suddenly sprouted horns and a tail.

Dawn suddenly released him and stepped between him and Claude.

"You are a sick human being, you know that?" she muttered. With a snap of her fingers, the guards hauled Joseph up off the floor and dragged him towards the door. He suddenly started to fight them. Bolting towards the nearest staircase, he yelled "SANCTUARY!" at the top of his lungs.

"Son-of-a-" Dawn bit off the curse when Claude gave her a stern look.

"We're sorry, Your Worship," one of the guards said uneasily, "you'll have to get Parliament to break it…"

Dawn groaned. That could take days or even weeks. She put her arm around Claude, who looked like he would throw up any second. Grateful for her support, he leaned against her as he tried to digest what had just happened.

"If he wants sanctuary, then we'll give it to him. But we're putting him in one of the second-story rooms at the opposite end of the place," she said forcefully, "and I want him locked in there twenty-four seven. If he escapes, you'll all be sorry."

She steered Claude away from the crowd and into one of the back chambers behind the sanctuary. They were alone now, just the two of them.

"You all right?" she asked him in a much gentler tone.

He hugged her tightly to him, thanking God for how warm and how solid she was. There were so many emotions going through him right now that he thought his nerves would rattle apart. She rubbed his back and mumbled comforts to him, but he didn't register a thing she said.

"You would have killed him," he said in awed horror, "You actually would have killed him…"

"When it comes to you and Malachi, anything and everything is possible," she said firmly, "we almost lost each other because of that prick. He doesn't deserve peace or happiness. He's lucky he's still breathing."

Claude stared at her. This was a side of Dawn he hadn't seen yet and it deeply disturbed him.

"Don't look at me like that," she scolded him, "if you'd seen the look on his face when he held that dagger up…I still have nightmares about it. Admit it, Claude: you'd kill for us, too. You almost did for Esmeralda."

He did not like to be reminded of that horrible night and shuddered. The grim part of his conscience told him that he'd be a hypocrite if he condemned her for something he himself had done.

"Where's Malachi?" he asked uneasily.

"Jacques moved him out of the sanctuary when I drew the knife," Dawn told him, "they're probably in the kitchen. He probably wanted to keep Malachi from seeing all that."

Claude was grateful for that. He couldn't stomach the thought of Dawn murdering anyone no matter what the situation was. As they walked hand-in-hand out of the room, Claude was asking questions to God in his head. Why had Joseph returned? Why did he insist on making such a scene? Granted, he might not have if Dawn hadn't held the dagger to his throat…but why had he followed them and spied on them? None of it made sense to him.

Maybe he should have a word with Joseph…but Dawn would never stand for it. He would have to do it when she wasn't around. As long as she knew Joseph was here, she'd be very unlikely to leave because her feelings were so strong…

_Please, God, help us to untangle this mess,_ he added silently after asking God to bless the food.


	54. Chapter 54

The rest of the morning was very chaotic. Dawn wasn't present for the morning gathering and prayers. The cook informed Claude that she had gotten something for Malachi to eat and then gone out into the gardens. Her statement was confirmed before Claude was even all the way outside: even from here, he could hear the angry music coming out of her guitar. The sinister minor chords matched the gloomy gray sky above.

"Hey," she said without looking up. She was sitting by a tree trunk and watching Malachi chase Squishie and Michael around. The two dogs thought it was funny to wait until the young boy got right up to them before they dashed off in different directions.

He was unsure of how to open the conversation, so it all came out in one exhaled breath:

"I want you to forgive Joseph."

"What?"

She looked at him incredulously.

_You have officially lost your mind,_ her expression said.

"As Godly people, we have to grant forgiveness when those who wrong us ask…and even if they don't."

Dawn's fingers paused on the frets. Instead of the pause in the dark chords bringing relief, it made the silence seem even more sinister.

"Are you forgetting that he almost killed both of us? On top of that, he was doing some really creepy things. He touched _our_ baby, Claude! He could have easily hurt him! For all I know, Joseph's the one who made him sick!"

"I don't blame you for being angry," Claude said in his "preacher" voice, "but carrying this burden on your soul for the rest of your life isn't healthy. It's not going to solve this problem. How do we know he hasn't truly repented?"

Dawn's stare was darkening more by the second.

"How do we know he has? Guys like him don't change," she said acidly, "I didn't trust him before and I will never trust him."

He was quiet for a moment, trying to think of a way to work this out. He hated fighting with her and he especially didn't want to do so over Joseph. His display in the sanctuary had thoroughly embarrassed Claude and he didn't want any more scenes made than necessary. Doing the right thing seemed impossibly hard because he truly didn't know what the answer was right now.

"Maybe we should hear what he has to say," Claude knew he was treading on thin ice now.

"I heard enough this morning! I want him gone!" Dawn snapped, "I only stopped because Malachi was watching us! Don't think that I wouldn't go through with it!"

Claude didn't know what to say to that. The image still horrified him. He'd seen a side of Dawn this morning that frightened him. She heard his sigh and knew he was getting frustrated with her.

"After all that stuff he did," Dawn said coldly, "after he almost killed you and then almost got me killed…after all that worrying you did over me performing in the streets…you're going to protect the guy that almost did me in. Thanks."

She shook the dry grass off of her skirts and walked off. Claude was feeling sick to his stomach as he watched her move to the other side of the yard. Now, he was hurt. She knew she'd hurt him the instant she'd said that, but for some reason, she was in a very belligerent mood this morning. The adrenaline hadn't had a chance to exit her system. She didn't turn to look at him until he was almost inside again. His shoulders were slumped and she almost yelled out an apology.

But she didn't. Her fury towards Joseph kept her tongue glued to the bottom of her mouth.

….

"Yes, it's true that you're her husband and she has to listen to you," Jehan said, "but you can't force someone to forgive no matter what."

"She needs to," Claude argued, "I need to. We need to get this out of our lives for good. I know she has nightmares about him and if she doesn't face him, she always will."

"Both of you have excellent points," Jehan said diplomatically, "but trying to force her to face him will only backfire. She'll come to fear him and resent him worse because it wasn't her choice. You didn't see the look on her face when he nearly stabbed you. When he couldn't separate you two by your death, he wanted her to die, which would have been just as good in his mind. That girl would give her life for yours and she nearly did once."

Claude willed the tension headache that he was getting to go away. It didn't. If anything, it was getting worse. He hated fighting with Dawn. Thankfully, they hadn't fought very much.

"So, what do I do?" Claude asked reluctantly.

"Let her face him on her own terms and be there for her. She won't admit to it because she's supposed to be a tough woman, but she's scared. I can tell she is," Jehan said, "some women fall apart when they're afraid, but she's the type that would take on an army rather than give in to it. She buries her fear in her anger."

"She walked away from me," Claude complained, "how do I know she'll listen?"

"Because she loves you. She won't stay away for long and you know that."

They were in Claude's office. Since Jehan had returned, he had been Claude's sounding board for matters of the heart. He figured that Jehan would eventually grow tired of it, but he was more than willing to help since he had come to love both of them.

"Whatever happens, you must make sure she knows that you're truly listening to her," Jehan stressed, "she wants to know that you care about her feelings. And all those men that think that unquestioning obedience is the only way a woman should be don't have the slightest idea of what they're talking about. Is it better to sacrifice a little bit of pride or a lot of trust?"

….

Jehan was right, as he usually seemed to be. He wasn't sure where Dawn had been, but they both ended up in the same hallway near sunset. He hadn't even said anything when she flung herself into his arms. Though she didn't make any noise, he could feel her ribs jerking up and down and knew she was crying. He kissed her on top of the head to show her that he wasn't angry with her and rubbed her back while she regained her composure.

_Something must really be wrong,_ he thought. He had only seen Dawn cry one or two times before and that was usually when she was angry about something. She often refused to be around anyone in tears and would banish everyone from the room, even him, when she had a spell.

Gradually, her breath slowed and evened out. She wasn't used to seeking out other people for comfort when she was this upset. Embarrassed, she fished her handkerchief out of her dress pocket and sponged away the offending stickiness. Then, she noisily blew her nose and put it back.

"Sorry," she muttered, "I hate crying."

She wished she could be like the women in the movies and look artfully emotional without the runny nose and the blotchy red face. Claude had not yet said anything.

"Talk to me," he prompted gently. Dawn could only hug him for a moment. She felt better that he couldn't see her face right this second.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she choked out, "that was really uncalled for. I forget how many awkward situations your job puts you in. I know you've suffered as much as I have because of Joseph…I panicked because I really did think I would kill him earlier. I don't like someone having so much power over me."

"I know," Claude said quietly, "and it means a lot to me that you want to protect me. But I'm very glad you didn't go through with it."

He stroked her hair and the back of her neck. She would often get tension headaches at the base of her skull and rubbing there would relax her.

"I won't like it, but I'll talk to him if that's really what you want," she said in a pained voice.

"It would. But we have a little over a month. Between now and the last day of his reprieve, you may choose the date."

He knew before she said anything that it was a good compromise. After extending this proverbial olive branch, she practically melted against him.

"Thank you," she breathed, her voice partially muffled by his robes.

Neither one of them had paid very much attention to their surroundings. The two priests that were guarding the bedroom door were still and silent, pretending that they hadn't heard anything. Joseph had pressed his ear against the door and was listening.

"Let's go eat dinner," Claude told her, "you haven't had anything to eat all day and I don't want you to get sick."

She managed a small smile as he took her hand and led her down the stairs.


	55. Chapter 55

Three days had passed. Dawn was unusually cranky. She tried very hard to keep this thorn in her side to herself, but there were times it leaked through. She'd snapped at almost everyone. Claude chalked it up to the stress of having Joseph around, but she knew in her heart that he wasn't it. He might be contributing to it, but she knew she couldn't blame him for all of it.

"I don't know what's the matter with me," she lamented to Marie and Esmeralda one day, "I've been so nasty to Claude…bless his heart. He just takes it and takes it. Sometimes I think I'd feel better if he yelled back at me once in a while. Malachi does, at least. I've just been feeling so tired and bitchy and just mean."

"Are you feeling well otherwise?" Marie asked.

"Yeah, I think so. My appetite and my sleeping habits haven't changed," Dawn answered, "no skipped times-of-the-month."

She'd been keeping track of that since Malachi was born to keep from missing the signs of a pregnancy. The sheet of paper she recorded those dates on was folded up in her bedside drawer. Though she loved Malachi dearly, he was rapidly approaching the terrible-twos and she just didn't think she could handle another child right now. Though Claude had been expressing the desire for a daughter lately, he understood completely.

"I should probably just go deal with Joseph and get it over with," Dawn sighed, "I hate the way he seeps into everything. Claude and I can't even…"

She paused, trying to think of the right euphemism for it.

"Make love?" Marie added helpfully with a mischievous smile.

"…Uh, yeah, that…without me remembering he's somewhere in the cathedral. He's in my head and I hate that. I can't do anything without feeling his presence. The guy has the personality of a fart: everybody's relieved when he clears the room and they all make this face when he comes in."

The three women dissolved into laughter. It was a good feeling to have real friends for the first time where she didn't have to watch everything she said.

"That's the first time I've ever heard it put that way," Esmeralda remarked. She turned to check on Celeste and quickly chased after her. Celeste was curious about the river and seemed anxious to have a swimming lesson. Squishie usually herded Malachi away from anything potentially dangerous, but she couldn't keep up with three children!

"Good job, Squish," Dawn praised the dog when she dragged Malachi back towards them by his diaper. Malachi turned and gave her a dirty look—he, too, was curious about the water.

"She's very intelligent for an animal," Marie commented.

"Most of them are," Dawn answered, "they just don't get the credit. Of course, the necklace helps."

They already knew all about the amulet and how it allowed her to communicate with almost anyone with a pulse.

"I wish I had a helper like that," Esmeralda admitted, "Djali doesn't much like babies. She's been very good with Celeste, but her patience is limited. Celeste keeps trying to climb on her back and ride her. We just can't watch her every second of the day."

"Yeah…they're at that age, unfortunately," Dawn sighed, "I can't wait until Malachi's out of diapers for good."

While the "hen party" took place on the dock down by the river, the men were upstairs in Claude's office.

"She's been…scary lately," Claude admitted to Jehan and Pierre, "if I so much as breathe wrong, she's at my throat for it. I don't know what to do to help her feel better."

"Maybe there's something else going on," Pierre remarked, "Esmeralda didn't get sick very often when she carried Celeste, but she was rather frightening at times."

Jehan chuckled.

"So was Marie…but of course, you knew that already."

Claude cringed.

"Is there anything else it could be? I don't mean to sound ungrateful for God's blessings, but…I'm not sure I'm ready for another one."

"There are plenty of things it could be," Pierre said, trying to help put Claude's mind at ease, "women are like that…sometimes they themselves don't truly know what's bothering them. I'm sure it will pass."

They were all looking down at the girls on the dock.

"They seem to be in a good mood for now," Jehan said, seeing their open-mouthed smiles that indicated laughter, "I hope it stays that way.

"As do I."

…

"Let's get it over with," Dawn said, sounding very resigned when she came in. Her hair was messed up from the wind and she had flower chains around her wrists, head, and neck. The children were learning how to make flower chains, though they messed up more flowers than they actually put on there successfully. Malachi was yawning and clearly ready for a nap after running around outside all morning and part of the afternoon. She had been prepared to stay out longer, but a storm was coming and outside was getting chilly.

Claude didn't say anything one way or another for fear that she'd change her mind. They put Malachi in his bed for his nap and Jacques, the kind old priest, came in to watch over him while they were gone. They had no idea how long it would take to talk to Joseph and didn't want to leave the baby unattended.

Joseph was laying on his bed staring up at the ceiling when they entered. He glanced over at them with emotionless dark eyes. It was as if his body was here, but his mind was somewhere else.

"Have you come to tell me of my fate?" he asked, voice cold and flat.

"Perhaps," Claude said cautiously, "but you have one more chance to defend yourself."

Joseph sat up. His clothes had been loose to begin with, but it was clear that he had lost weight since he'd come back to Paris. His cheeks seemed hollow and his face carried no color. He looked like a corpse already.

"How can I, Your Excellency? Your wife has already expressed her wishes to end my life and I know you'd do almost anything to let her have what she wants."

Dawn twitched and Claude's hand slipped into hers and squeezed it. He knew that Joseph's wording had already offended her.

"You're right, I would," Claude said calmly, "but see that she is showing you mercy despite her strong feelings…"

Joseph finally looked directly at her. Her body was taut and her eyes were blazing. Claude's grip on her hand wasn't nearly strong enough to hold her back if she wanted to attack him. He wasn't even sure if she was armed. He would need to speak carefully.

"I don't blame you, my lady," he said awkwardly, not knowing how to address her, "if I had met another human being as undesirable as myself, I'd be ready to destroy him, too. There is nothing I can do or say to convince you that my feelings have changed and I can see it in your eyes."

Dawn said nothing. The metallic taste of blood tainted her tongue, as she was biting her lip hard enough to injure it.

"I was wrong to interfere," he continued, his voice staying hollow, "I took it upon myself to judge both of you when it was not my place. I thought it was up to me to decide how others should live. Instead of trying to help, I hurt instead. I didn't take anyone's feelings into account except for my own. I was horribly jealous and wanted to take what was never mine to have. I should never have returned, but that I will never regret. It is time that I take the consequences for all that I've done. I apologize for all that I've done in the past and I apologize for frightening you and your son—I never meant to harm him. I only wanted to see one last miracle before I set out into a Godless word. God Himself has turned His Face away from me and I know where I'm headed when I draw my last breath. It was worth it all, though…just to see you all again and to know that you're happy and cared for."

He swallowed and willed his throat not to constrict.

"He loves you so much…and you love him. You always have, right from the beginning. You made him feel things I never could have in my wildest dreams. You both became better people through your love for each other. And I know you will long after I am gone."

A long silence passed. Dawn's hand felt eerily cold in Claude's. She released his hand slowly and stepped up to the edge of the bed. Joseph's pulse began to speed, but he willed himself to stay perfectly still. Claude was nervous, unsure of what she would do. Her eyes bored into Joseph's. The dark eyes that were almost always soft and full of laughter were sharp and cold as daggers right now. For a moment, he thought she would strike him.

She didn't. She abruptly turned on her heel and exited the room. Puzzled, Claude followed her. The door closed behind them and Joseph was left alone in the rapidly waning light and dropping temperature.

"Are you all right?" Claude asked gently when they had exited the hallway.

She was silent for a moment, watching the flames dance on one of the wall torches.

"I thought I could handle him if he tried to beat me up again," she replied after a moment, "I thought I could handle anything he handed me. But it's like he's given up already. He has no will left to live. I have no clue how to deal with that."

She slid into his arms, comforted by the warmth and strength there.

"I can kill somebody in self-defense," she admitted, "I can do whatever it takes to survive or defend…but I can't take somebody on when it's not a fair fight."

"It wasn't," he reminded her.

"It's definitely not now."

As much as she despised him, the image of him sitting there with his knees pulled up to his chest and his dead expression haunted her. He was such a miserable being. She felt something alien in her gut that nearly made her sick: the stirrings of pity. Claude looked as sick as she felt.

"What are we going to do?" he asked her.

She heard her heart thump in her ears. That was an awfully big decision…then, the next moment, she felt as though she was floating away in a dream. The moment seemed unreal.

"Nothing," she heard herself say, "we're letting him go and hoping like Hell he stays away. If he starts trouble again, I'm taking him out myself."

Claude's look of disbelief echoed the one in her heart. The few that had been present nearby when she said that had begun to whisper as they turned and walked right back up to Joseph's room.

"Are you sure about this?" Claude couldn't help but ask.

"No. But I'm doing it anyway."

The door banged open loudly and Joseph jumped visibly. _This was it_, he thought. _This is where my days become numbered._

"Get up," Dawn said firmly. Stunned, he did. There was a different light in her eyes; an odd light. He didn't recognize it. Taking both of his hands, she pinned them behind his back and marched him out of the room. By now, other people were staring. They gathered a small crowd as she steered him through the labyrinth of hallways and out to the main entrance.

"Two things," Dawn said firmly, "you come near my kids or my husband without my say-so, you're dead before you even take your next breath. I've been a Hell of a lot nicer to you than you deserve. Get the Hell out of here."

She shoved him forward and he sprinted away just as a bolt of lightning cracked across the sky. They all stared at her, open-mouthed. Dawn swept past them and went inside just as the rain began to fall, whipped around by the wind. She was tingling all over and felt light-headed. She was vaguely aware of Claude's arm around her.

"Sit down," he demanded, "you're very pale."

She numbly obeyed. The amulet flashed different colors, indicating mixed emotions.

"Some water," Claude demanded, alarmed at her sudden paleness. It took a few minutes before one of them brought him a cup. She shakily accepted it and sipped at the water to appease him.

"I'm all right, really," she managed to say, "I was just so stressed out by this…"

Claude kissed her cheek. He himself was feeling a little shaky after what had just happened.

"I love you so much," he whispered in her ear. It seemed like the only right thing to say at a time like this.


End file.
